Failed To Fail
by Ventisquear
Summary: It always surprised me that it was so easy to get Zevran's approval. The Warden just turned his whole life upside down and then acted as if it was quite normal... so this just shows a bit of Zev's confusion about his new situation...
1. Failed to Fail

**Failed To Fail**

_He shifted__ his weight from his right leg to the left and suppressed a yawn. The guard shot an annoyed look at him, but didn't say anything. Damn these nobles, leaving him to wait so long. It must have been at least an hour. What did he care for their civil war or that Plight or whatever it was? He just wanted to do his mission. Or fail. Whatever would be easier to accomplish._

_Finally, the guard gave him a sign that he could go in. He straightened up, and walked in with a proud smile on his lips._

_"The Antivan Crows send their regards," he said with a slight bow of his head and in one quick glance checked the room and people in it. One of them he had already met–it was Arl Howe, the contractor. A rat, he thought. One of those that are, for some strange reason, always convinced that they deserve to be on top, and will do whatever it takes to get there. Although they rarely succeeded, and usually ended up like seconds of some bigger predators, more dangerous–and more capable of hiding their true nature. Such as this other guy, for example, this self-proclaimed regent. Much more interesting. Betrayed the whole army and let them die, including his son-in-law. And then sold it as a service to the kingdom. Or so he heard. _

_"An assassin?"_

_The man's voice was full of disgust. He had to suppress a smile. Oh yes, he had seen this kind before. Babbling about honour, but quite ready to forget it for a moment or two, when necessary._

_"I understand your dissent, my Lord. And normally I would not suggest something so contemptible. But allow me to say, My Lord, that against the Grey Wardens, we will need the very best," said the rat guy cajolingly. Although it was not really necessary. It was quite clear what the result would be. He decided to rile the other guy a bit more. He doubted this guy would go as far as to send a complaint to his Masters in Antiva. _

_"Oh, yes. For us Crows, to be the best is the question of our _honour_. And, as our honour is not cheap, we are also the most expensive," he said with a slight chuckle. _

_If looks could kill, he would already be dead. He relished in his little victory, and didn't drop his gaze. After a short tense moment, the regent turned away._

_"Just have it done."_

_He bowed, partially to hide his scornful smile, and backed away. The rat guy left too, and waved him to follow. They went into what was obviously the rat guy's own study. The elf servant – very nice bosom, but bit short legs–brought them some brandy, then quickly backed away in low bow. For a moment, they were sitting quietly, drinking brandy and trying to judge each other._

_"I don't have to say how sensitive this task is," said the rat guy finally. "The Grey Wardens must die, but nobody must even suspect that it was a murder. They are little more than recruits, so it should not be difficult to make it seem as if they were killed by some common bandits."_

_"I understand, Ser. That can be easily arranged, of course. Of how many targets we are speaking?"_

_"Two," admitted the guy unwillingly._

_Two? The mighty regent of Ferelden was so afraid of _two recruits _that he needed Antivan Crows to get rid of them? He clearly overestimated the guy. How annoying. It seemed he wouldn't be able to fail, after all._

_"Though they will probably have some supporters. Last reports say they are travelling with an apostate mage and it is possible they have already recruited other people. Do _not _underestimate them."_

_That sounded bit more exciting… for some fresh apprentice. He gave the man another confident smile. "Of course, Ser. You do not need to worry. The Antivan Crows never fail."_

_Unfortunately._

oOo

Someone was shaking him.

"Zev. Zev! Are you all right?"

He looked up into pair of bright purple eyes and once again realized that purple was the most beautiful colour in the world. But right now, those eyes were looking at him full of genuine concern. He quickly recollected his composure and flashed one of his trademark smiles.

"What–of course I am. What do you mean? And what are you doing here? Can't sleep? Not that I want to complain, of course, at least I can stare at you luridly again, but I didn't hear you coming."

"Didn't hear me _coming_? I've been here for quite some time, you know. Talking to you. Or, more precisely, I tried to talk to you. It was rather one-sided, see. You were too busy _staring luridly_ at the fire to even notice. If I were some evil darkspawn, I could have already eaten you and you wouldn't even know."

"Oh? But you can still do that, my dear... now that you have my full attention, it would be much more enjoyable, even. I could show you the tastiest bits, you know..."

The boy chuckled and sat down next to him. "I will remember that when we run thin on supplies again. Especially supplies for Rask."

"So… what did you want to talk about?"

"You."

He almost said another lascivious comment, but when he caught Airam's look he thought better of it. Worried, but also stern. And bit suspicious. What had happened?

"Me? What for? Is something wrong?"

"Well, that's exactly the question I wanted to ask _you_. _What's wrong,_ Zev? Are you ill? Do you hurt somewhere? Or is it… something else, related to the Crows, perhaps? And what can I do to help?"

It did not happen often–it was, in fact extremely rare–that he, infamous Zevran Arainai, was unable to come up with quick and smart reply to anything. And those few occasions it did happen it almost always included this boy.

"I'm quite fine. Thank you for your concern, it is appreciated, but not necess-"

"Don't give me that crap. Don't forget who you're talking to."

He gulped, too shocked for any reaction. What _was _wrong? And what did he mean by that? In the four months since he was allowed to live he had never heard such harsh words, at least not from Airam, and he didn't really care that much for the others. He must have messed up really big this time, to make him so angry. His face probably gave up some of his worries, because the boy's look suddenly softened and lips twitched into slight smile.

"Zev. I mean, I'm just as good at these games as you are, you know. Or you should, by now. Even at your best, you cannot fool _me_. I'm not Alistair, thank you. And right now? You're at your worst, I'd say. So why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

He was still confused, still uncertain what he was expected to say. "What makes you think that something's wrong?"

"What makes me think so? Oh, well, let's see…" the boy furrowed his brow in mock musing, voice thick with irony. "Could it be because you suddenly behave like some unholy walking corpse? Hm… yes… yes, I think that's probably it."

"Well I will not argue about the unholy part, but –"

"Before you never stopped talking, honestly, you were worse than Wynne –"

"Why, thank you _so_ much," he said in mock hurt tone, "such fine compliments…"

The boy chuckled. "You're welcome. All right, I admit, it was a bit more fun –"

"Ah, one always likes it when his efforts are acknowledged."

"Yeah, well, only you don't talk any more, do you? Last few days you hardly opened you mouth. Worse, you don't even reply when people talk to you. You just… stare. During walking, even during the fights, your body is with us, but your mind is clearly somewhere else. Like yesterday. When you cut off the head of that silly bandit in one smooth move with a completely blank expression, it was… scary. And later, you walked right into a tree, because you obviously didn't notice it–"

"Oh don't start with it again. Didn't you have enough laughs yesterday? I tripped–"

"Sure. You tripped on your own legs. How _reassuring_. Why would anyone doubt it, right? Or now. Maker's breath, Zev, it was one of the creepiest things I've seen during our happy little hike across Ferelden. The infamous Antivan Crow, quiet, unmoving, not reacting to what's happening around… _and_ during his night watch, I might add."

"I dozed off. Look, I'm sorry I fell asleep on the watch, it won't happen again."

"Do you often sleep with open eyes?"

"I–" He closed his mouth. What could be said to that? Oh gods, had he really lost control after only four months? How would Taliesen laugh if he saw him.

"So please, tell me what worries you. We're _friends_. Aren't we? Whatever it is, I will try to help you. And I won't even tease you about it. Oh, well, maybe just a little bit. The way you hit that tree _was_ quite hilarious, you know." The boy gave him very sweet and innocent smile, but his eyes were still worried.

As if it was that easy. He'd need to know that himself first, no? It wouldn't do to tell him 'ah, you know, I'm not sure, but I think I feel something towards you, but the problem is I'm just not sure if it's love, or friendship, or worship of a devoted follower to his demigod, or just bewilderment…'

"I didn't know I was that bad… don't worry, it's nothing much. I guess I'm just exhausted. I haven't been able to get much sleep recently, because of… uh, bad dreams. Full of big black birds? I'm sorry I worried you. Really. All I need is to get some proper sleep, and I'll be fine. Give me a day or two to rest and I'll be back to good old insufferable Zevran again. I promise."

"So you're not telling me. Fine. _Fine_. Have it your way."

Part of him was very happy and proud that his little Grey Warden was not fooled. But when he looked in the boy's eyes, his heart sunk. Airam was furious, that was obvious–but also hurt. Disappointed. He must think Zevran doesn't trust him enough. When the truth was, he didn't trust _himself_ any more.

"You want two days, and two days you shall get. But I warn you, Zevran. If you are not back to normal on the third day, I'll leave you in the nearest Chantry till you are healed completely, no matter how many weeks or even months it will take. Or maybe I'll just leave you there forever."

"My, my. Such cruel threats. Quite unfitting to that angelic face of yours, you know. And didn't I hear you say we were _friends_?"

"Oh but of course we are, you ingrate! A cloistered life would do you _much_ good."

They both burst into laugh. He was relieved to see those beautiful eyes sparked with joy and mischief again. Though it was also rather worrying, because he also knew his little Warden never made empty threats. _Like that time, when a group of Loghain mercenaries attacked them and one of them said…_

"Zeev-raan. You are drifting a-gaaa-in." A mocking, singsong voice brought him back to reality.

"What? No, no, I'm not, I, ah, just…"

"Ah, just shut up and go to sleep will you? I'll take over from here. No–not a word. _I_ don't share your eagerness to get eaten alive by some smelly darkspawn, see. There are some sleeping potions in my tent. Take it, and have some proper rest."

"But–"

"Off with you, now. Unless you really _do_ want a few months of cloistered life."

"All right, I'm going, Your Majesty_,_ I'm going!" He started to back away in deep bow, dodging aside when Airam threw a piece of wood at him, missing his head just by a few centimetres.

"Still having problems with hitting moving targets, I see? Tomorrow–"

"_Good night_, Zev."

He went to the tent and took two sleeping potions–not that they would help him with his trouble, but better not to provoke his little Warden any more. It made him feel miserable. Why couldn't he come up with something better? It was Airam who had the bad dreams–bad enough to make him scream aloud in his sleep, waking up all wet from cold sweat. Unless he took the potion–and now he would have two less of them, due to his clumsy excuse, and no chance to get new ones until they got somewhere they can stay for few days so Wynne could make them. And that wouldn't happen for at least two more weeks. He felt even more miserable because his own dreams definitely were not nightmares, and although he also sometimes woke up wet, it definitely wasn't from sweat.

This little Warden… always doing and saying the most impossible things. Giving up his medicine… to help who exactly? An assassin who tried his best to kill him. He did not become infamous by being sloppy, after all. He was a Crow, and one of the best, as well–not yet the Master, but just one step from it. And so he had carefully checked all the preparations…

_The wagon was knocked over, the broken carts and barrels scattered around. Some of his crew dressed in the peasant clothes, lying on the ground, pretending to be dead or heavily wounded merchants. __A few others were to pretend to be the mercenaries attacking them. The rest of them were already positioned on the slopes of the cornices looming over the path. Yes, it was perfect. All that remained was to wait for his prey to fall into his trap._

_His lips twitched. He had been watching his targets for few days now, and knew that it would work. Always _so_ willing to help, always so honourable and heroic. They would not refuse, or even suspect, the unhappy merchants that were attacked by mercenaries. But what else could be expected from the bunch of naïve kids? Following a kid that was obviously the youngest and weakest of them all? When they somehow managed to set free the qunari prisoner, he wondered if things would be bit more interesting, but no. Even he let the kid command. How disappointing. Sure, they were strong enough to deal with a few bandits or a pack of wolves, but if they wouldn't manage even that much there would be no point in assassinating them, no? But against his crew? They didn't stand a chance. He picked each of them by himself, they were some of the most promising young Crows there were._

_ "Oh, please, please, hurry! They will kill them!"_

_Ah. So here they were. He watched them with scornful smile as they rushed after Genna, unsuspecting just as he expected. The boy stopped, looking merely mildly interested, when Genna calmly stood by his side. But not scared. For some reason, that irritated him to no end. Not afraid, was he? Well then, he would have to teach him to be afraid, right? He raised his hand, and his men stepped out. The boy still didn't look impressed, not even when the huge trunk crashed down on the very spot he was standing just a second ago. Pretty good reflexes, he would give him that. But that wasn't enough, not against a flock of Crows._

_"The Grey Warden dies here!"_

Not 'the Grey Wardens die', no. Singular, not plural. He often thought about it, later. Why was he trying so hard to impress some kid he was paid to kill, the kid he thought to be ridiculously silly? Why didn't he care about who would take down Alistair, when they were both Grey Wardens and his targets? Was it because of the boy's unusual looks? Or perhaps because of the boy's silly effort to help everyone in that stupid little village, although he must have known that it will be destroyed within a few days? Or because he was the only elf in their little group? There was no answer. But whatever the reason was, he wanted to take him down himself. His people knew him well enough to understand, and turned to the others…

_But they never had time to do anything. He__ took maybe two steps, when the boy stood right in front of him. The next second, he was paralyzed and then lifted slightly in the air, his body pierced by rays of light, again and again and again. The pain was agonizing, making him unable to move, or even take a breath. Completely helpless, he watched as the boy froze Genna to the bone, and the qunari scattered her to pieces with one blow; how the other Warden, with the dog at his side, took down the other three; he watched in horror as the black haired witch turned into a huge spider, tearing through his men as if they were just flies; and the little red-haired priest bringing down those on the slopes, her arrows never missing their targets. The boy, still standing right next to him, was helping her with his spells. How? Why? When did they learn to fight like this?_

_Of course. They wouldn't fight their best against few wolves, would they? Hiding their trump cards. Perhaps they were not that pathetic after all. But it didn't matter, not any more. He was dying. His wish was granted, after all. Finally. He closed his eyes, smiling._

_The next thing he knew, he was staring into the eyes of the Angel of Death. Black, deep, dangerous eyes. But the white hand on his cheek was not cold, but warm and gentle. And the Angel of Death would not have dark violet hair, would he? _

_"Good, he's awake."_

_Awake? Who, him? Awake, like not dead? Why was there that Angel, then? He tried to focus, to remember what happened. Then he saw the shattered ice on the ground… They were going to ambush those pathetic Grey Wardens, and Genna was their decoy, Genna led them to their trap and then… and this was not an angel at all. It was that silly kid–his target that had he failed to kill. Memories instantly returned, accompanied with almost unbearable pain in his whole body._

_"Oh. I hoped I'd wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as it is," he murmured more to himself than to his captors. He quickly assessed his situation. He was not tied, but in his state, and surrounded by the Grey Wardens and their companions, he wouldn't have a chance to as much as lift his pinkie, let alone to escape or to attack them. He looked up into those eyes again and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Maker, what eyes. He had never felt so… exposed before, so vulnerable. As if his whole soul, his whole being was stripped down, revealing all he tried so hard to hide… It made him want to scream and to cover from them, from their piercing look… Instead, he smiled a little. Showing his terror to his enemy? Not a chance. He was defeated, but he would not be humiliated._

_"But I see you haven't killed me yet." _

_"That can be easily rectified." _

_"I have no doubts of that. But if you kept me alive, you apparently did it for some reason, yes? Probably interrogation, am I right? So, let me spare your time and tell you anything you'd like to know."_

_"You're rather glib for someone in your position."_

_The boy's face was still grim, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. So, he found this amusing, this strange Angel of Death? Then perhaps he should amuse him bit more. He might have wanted to die in the battle, but he did not really look forward to being slain while helplessly lying on the ground like some mangy old dog._

_"Ah, yes, it is my way, I'm often told. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am an Antivan Crow and I was hired to kill the surviving Grey Wardens, a task I failed completely –"_

_"Antivan what?"_

_"They're an order of assassins. It is said that they are the best, as well as the most expensive. Someone went to great expenses to make sure you and Alistair died." It was the priest who answered, looking down at him with an increased interest. The boy was not impressed, however. _

_"I'm surprised you haven't heard of us. We are rather infamous," he said, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice._

_"Not for being good assassins, I see," there was that smirk in his voice again._

_"Oh, great, is that what you Fereldans do, mock your prisoners? Such cruel torture," he snapped, a bit more sarcastically than he intended, but this kid was so irritating, who the hell did he think he was? Looking down on the Crows just because he defeated a few of their assassins, he must be incredibly stupid._

_"Challenging _me _to show you some real torture, are you?" Something flashed in those eyes, something so cold it took all the strength he still had left just not to start quivering with fear. And he didn't miss that stress, implying that the foolishness is not in the challenge itself, but in challenging _him_. Who in the Void was this boy? Was he _really _the Angel of Death? Or perhaps some demigod offspring of a forgotten Old God? He dropped his gaze down, but before he could come up with some smart reply, the boy continued._

_"Who hired you?"_

_"A rather menacing guy from Denerim. Loghain, I think was his name. Though he was only paying for it. The idea, or so I understood at least, came from the rat guy… I mean, Arl Howe."_

_"So. First he sends some clumsy guards, now inept assassins. What are we to expect the next time, a bunch of grandmothers threatening us with their walking sticks?" The other Warden laughed coldly and glared at him as if it was his fault._

_"Did he at least pay you well for it?" The boy asked.  
_

_"I'm afraid he didn't pay me at all. He would pay the Crows if I succeeded, and he would have to pay really nice sum, but I would only get few scraps of that. Which makes me as poor as a Chantry mouse, I'm afraid."_

_He was looking directly into those dangerous eyes again, trying to sound as innocent, and convincing, and amusing, as possible. But the little Warden was still unimpressed._

_"And where are you supposed to meet him again?"_

_"I am not. I am supposed to report to my Masters, they will inform him. If I failed–"_

_"_If _you failed?" _

_Finally, there was that smirk in the voice again. That was something he could work with. Carefully, now. It could be his last chance. He chuckled. "Ah, what can I say? I'm an eternal optimist. Though right now, my chances to succeed are rather slim, yes?" _

_He withdrew his breath for a moment, looking in those eyes to see if he__ hadn't overdone it. But, strange as it was, it worked – the kid __was__ amused. His eyes did not seem to be so cold any more. Encouraged, he decided to test his luck once again._

_"So, if you are done with interrogation and do not have any other questions, I might have a proposal for you, if you're willing to hear it. I assure you that you will not regret it." He determinedly kept looking into the boy's eyes, ignoring the frowning of the other Warden and the witch._

_"Oh, I'm listening," the boy's voice was positively amused now._

_"Well, I was hired to kill you and I failed, so my life is forfeit. Even if, by some miracle, I would succeed now, the Crows would probably still kill me, just for principle, for failing the first time. They are very fussy about their image and all that 'Crows-always-fulfil-their-mission-or-die-in-the-attempt', see. And as I am still alive, and I'd prefer to stay so… Why don't you let me serve _you_ instead? I know it doesn't seem so right now, but I can be pretty useful."_

_The other companions, especially the other Warden, loudly protested at this, but the boy still looked amused, and now the smile reached his beautiful bright purple eyes. Wait, _purple_? Weren't they bottomless black pits just a moment ago? Was his mind playing tricks on him? But he wasn't hit on head, was he? Or was it just light? Anyway, it was a good sign, right? Had to be. Perhaps he would talk himself out of this after all. _

_"You must think I'm royally stupid." _

_"I think you're royally tough to kill. I only hope you are stupid," he says, before he can stop himself. Oh Maker. Did he really say that aloud? "Wait, that was a joke, just a joke! L-let me rephrase it. I hope you're a man who takes chances every now and then, yes?"_

_"A chance that you will finish your mission later? No, I don't think so."_

_Ouch. That hurt, that did. Just when he thought he had won, that he had got the kid where he wanted. More painful than those light beams that hurt his body before. Pity. He would like to live… to find out more about this little demigod. He dropped his gaze and sighed._

_"So, you're going to kill me. Ah well. Fair is fair, I guess. Just don't do anything barbaric afterwards, you know, like eating my remains, yes? That's all I ask. I have nightmares about that sometimes, you know."_

_"I was rather thinking of giving you a new mission."_

_He was ready for pretty much anything – except that. Was the boy mocking him? The game was fun and interesting, but it was over and he had lost, time to end it. Speechless, he looked up in the boy's eyes again._

_"Kill Loghain."_

_ "Kill Log… ah. No. No, I have to refuse your offer, interesting as it is. Truly, I cannot accept it, given the circumstances. It wouldn't be right."_

_"Wouldn't be right? Why? Aren't you an assassin? I could give you more than scraps, you know. It probably won't be as much as Loghain paid, but it would be all yours. Or are you just… too inept to do it?"_

_He couldn't really mean it, could he? "I might be an assassin, and I might be able to kill this Loghain for you. But death would still await me. And not a quick one, if I might add. Failing a mission is one thing, but killing the contractor instead of the target? That would be unheard-of treachery. Worth a very, very slow death. So if I am to die, I would prefer an honest death at least."_

_"An assassin speaking about honesty," the other Warden muttered, quite annoyed. "What are you waiting for? Just end it already!"_

_But the boy ignored his friend. He was looking at him, thoughtfully, their eyes still locked together. _

_"All right, forget it," he said at last after few seconds that seem to last a whole eternity._

_ So here it was. In few more seconds, he would be dead. No escaping it this time. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Strange. He always thought that he would enjoy following it closely, as the life would flow away from him. Now that moment had come he didn't feel like it, after all. Yet, he wasn't afraid. It was what he hoped for, after all. He waited, but the finishing blow was not coming._

_"I guess I accept your offer, then."_

_He must have imagined he heard those words. It could not possibly be true. But judging by the angry protests of the others, it probably was. He looked up again. The boy was… _smiling_? "But – I thought… Is… is this a joke? It is rather strange one, but I __will__ laugh if you insist…" _

_"Do you want to live or not?"_

_"Yes… Yes I… do…?" He was not able to keep his pretence any longer and his voice is weak, trembling with confusion and uncertainty. He was still half expecting a finishing blow, but instead the boy held out his hand. And smiled again. He accepted the hand, noticing how small and delicate and very white it seems compared to his own. The boy pulled him up. _

_His body still hurt quite a lot and he felt shaken and unstable on his legs, but he had lived through worse. He took a deep breath to calm down, then bowed his head._

_"Here do I swear fealty and service to you, Grey Warden, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until you choose to release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Zevran Arainai of the Crows."_

_There is a moment of surprised silence, as he finished. Even the other Warden was quiet for once. It seemed they didn't expect that. And he couldn't blame them–_he_ didn't see that coming, either. What in the world made him say it? He had probably read it somewhere, maybe even years ago, and forgotten all about it up until this moment. It sounded strange even to him; how could he expect this little demigod Warden to believe it? He felt the scornful stare of the witch on him and felt like a complete idiot. Thank the Maker he wasn't the type that blushes. _

_The boy was the first one to recover. "And I, Airam Surana of the Grey Wardens hear it, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance." The boy chuckled. "Did I say it right? It was the first time I did it, you know. I feel like some crazy old king, or something."_

He always had to laugh when he thought about that. If his oath was surprising, Airam's reply was totally shocking, leaving Alistair staring at him with an open mouth. He remembered how it crossed his mind that the two of them must have read the same book, and the strange feeling it stirred in him. He still called Airam "Your Majesty" sometimes, partly to tease him, when the boy acted too haughty. And partly because he wanted the boy to remember it forever, as clearly and fondly as he himself does.

He remembered how confused he was. How desperately he was trying to figure out what the catch was. Because there had to be one, obviously. The boy acted as if they knew each other for a whole life. Nobody would trust an assassin who tried to kill them only few hours ago just because of few words, right?

He expected that he would be tied up and further interrogated later. Instead, he was bandaged and healed as much as it possible in the field, and merrily introduced to everyone else. And when they finally set up camp and cooked dinner after hours of walking, the first questions his new master asked, after passing him a bowl of stew, were "So, you're from Antiva? What's it like there?" After which he decided that he _was_ going to try again, after all, those black, piercing eyes were probably hallucinations caused by his injuries, and that these pathetic fools were successful just because of sheer luck.

_He was lying under his blankets–that crazy kid actually apologized for not having another tent–listening for any suspicious sound, thinking what__ he should do now. Finish it or not? Fighting was not the only way to end someone's life. In fact, for him, it was always the least preferred way. They took his weapons and armour–they were not complete idiots, it seemed–but a Crow was never unarmed._

_Later, when everyone was asleep, he quietly opened his eyes. Alistair was sitting by the fire, occasionally shooting hateful glances in his direction. Very slowly, he crept out of the blankets, trying not to disarrange them, so they would look as if he was still lying there. He was master at this; he had gotten himself out of much more desperate situations than this. Sure enough, Alistair didn't notice anything. He practically melded into shadows as he crept towards the boy's tent. What he was going to do once he got there, he didn't know. He told himself that he was going to finish it–that he didn't have any weapons was not a problem. They shouldn't have been so trusting. Especially the boy. Now he was going to pay the price. Perhaps the crazy kid thought that the dog would stop him? How naïve. Any Crow apprentice would be able to sneak past a dog. But, if he was really going to finish the mission, why was Alistair still alive? _

_A __few more steps and he was in the tent. The boy was sleeping. He knelt beside him, watching him, listening to his regular breaths. How could he sleep like that with the infamous assassin in his camp? Now he was going to pay the price, he repeated to himself. But he didn't move. He knew he should kill him. It was a perfect chance. Then he'd slip out of the tent, kill Alistair and by the end of the week, he'd be in Denerim and inform the cell there. Maybe he'd stay there for few days, he had heard of an enterprise with a very promising name 'Wonders of Thedas'… and then sail back home. _

_Home. Where there were no fogs, no ground frost, where women didn't wear ridiculous woollen dresses and mufflers. He'd be famous; the only one who killed a Grey Warden, ever. He'd become a Master. He'd have enough money to buy those marvellous leather boots, or even complete set, together with leather vest and trousers. In fact, as a Master, he'd probably get a nice discount. And he'd have his own apprentices that would follow his every whim._

_The only obstacle was this boy. Smiling at assassins, crazy kid._

_Master Crow. Master Crow. Infamous. Rich. With his own apprentices to raise and train to his liking. _And to break,_ a cold voice whispered in his brain. Yes, that as well. To break, to hurt, to humiliate, or to kill them, whatever he liked. Just for the fun of it. Master Crow._

_The only obstacle was this crazy kid. He held out his hand–only to gently stroke his hair. _

_Smiling at the assassins, damn him._

_He cursed under his breath. Perhaps he was an idiot, but he would not do it. Not this time. Not this boy. Quietly, he got up and was almost out of the tent, when there was soft chuckle behind him._

_"You _really _think I'm royally stupid, don't you?"_

_He stopped on the spot. Oh great. But it was his own fault, his own stupidity. Now it was him who was going to die. Rustle of blankets, quiet steps. He didn't try to run away. It would be pointless, anyway; the boy could kill him with one spell before he got out of the tent._

_"I knew you wouldn't do it," the boy whispered in his ear. _

_For a few moments, the world stopped. "But what if I had?" he whispered._

_"Indeed. What if you had?" The boy laughed a small, mirthless laugh. _

_He felt a gentle touch of hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but he didn't push it away. _

_"I'd fail my mission, wouldn't I? I wouldn't have the pleasure to fight darkspawn and the Archdemon, and all the other nice and cute thingies we meet during our happy little hike. _Wouldn't_ I miss it? But what can I do, eh? I can't fail, even when I sleep. I'm __that__ awesome."_

_He was shaking uncontrollably now, his nerves so vexed he almost started to cry hysterically. What, __what__ was that boy saying? Why? Did he know? But how could he? _

_"Don't try it again."_

_"Kill you?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible. _

_"Well, that, too." The boy chuckled again. _

_Then, before he could ask, the boy took his hand off his shoulder. "Let's go. I'll take you to your bedroll. If you go alone, Alistair will think you were successful, and will kill you before checking."_

_Sure enough, Alistair was in front of the tent, with his sword drawn. So was the dog, who growled angrily the moment they stepped out. Not to him; to the boy. He heard Alistair furiously complaining; it seemed that it was all set-up by the boy; that the boy expected him to come to his tent. But he was still too shaken, too dizzy from those last words to listen, or to care; it took all his willpower just not to collapse._

_And so the boy actually had to help him back onto his bedroll and tucked his blankets around him, smiling again, damn him. _

_"You passed the test, Zevran Arainai of the Crows. Congratulations. And welcome aboard." _

And just like that, his old life ended. Years of training, all gone to hell just because of this crazy kid. Airam behaved as if the case was closed, never doubting his loyalty, never showing any sign of anxiety when around him. Not that he wasn't aware of possible danger–he really _wasn't_ stupid. Yet it seemed the boy simply decided to trust him. It was bewildering. Unnerving. For four months now, he had been trying to figure out the reasons for this "trust and friendship", to find out what it was that the boy really wanted from him. Friendship and trust, yeah right. Less than illusions. Empty words. That's what his whole life had taught him.

Every day was more and more confusing. During the day, on the road and in battles, the boy was sensible, quite a level headed leader and quite a formidable opponent in battle. Though not much of a tactician; usually he'd just rush forward and attack the strongest enemy he could see. Who ever heard of a mage fighting like that? And then, in the evening, they set up camp, and poof–the leader of saviours of Ferelden was gone and instead, there was a bit shy boy always eager to talk, to ask, oh, he always had so many questions… And whatever he answered, the boy never doubted it, always trusting him. Not that he lied, he didn't, perhaps he omitted a thing or two sometimes, as much for the boy's sake as for his own; but that was not the point. The point was, it was not… _normal_ to believe everything that an assassin tells you, yes?

Sometimes he suspected that Airam knew only too well how confusing all this was for him and did it for purpose, whatever it might be… during theirs talks he often carefully studied the boy's face, his eyes, for any sign of calculation, but there were not any. Only a hint of… understanding? As if something like that was possible. Although, perhaps… inquiring as he was, even nosy sometimes, Airam never talked about _his own_ past and family. There were a few hints that something bad happened to him before he was taken to the Tower of Magi, but usually he carefully avoided the topic. Only once, when pestered for a whole evening by Leliana, he said that he barely had any memories of his life before the Tower and that those few he did, he'd love to forget. It made him curious and he made many theories about it, each crazier than the previous one. The others were not any wiser, and so far the boy remained almost complete mystery.

And there was another problem, though that one was not so unexpected. A few days after he was so shockingly welcomed aboard, he started to have wild fantasies about the boy. But so far, the boy resisted everything he tried. The boy didn't seem to mind his jokes and lecherous comments, he'd even respond in the same way, but he obviously never took it seriously enough. Unlike Alistair who would blush fiercely at even the slightest dirty joke, and Zevran was sure that in the privacy of his own tent, the poor guy was replaying all images it invoked. But for his little Warden it was just a game, a reason to laugh, nothing more. It was quite frustrating, until he found out that the reason why Airam was so immune to his skills in seduction was that the crazy kid thought that he was ugly, even repulsive, and therefore certain that nobody normal could be interested in him.

All right, perhaps he was not perfect, if you focused on the details his skin was a bit too white, his ears a bit too small, and his hair a bit too violet to fit Antivan standards of beauty… or Fereldan standards… and most surely Dalish standards. But all together it really gave him the looks of an angel. Mmmm, he'd love to see if he could make that pale skin blush… Although it didn't seem possible, at least not in the near future. The first time Zevran complimented him, the boy was not only surprised, but disappointed, even disgusted, by what he considered to be a blatant lie told just in order to cajole him. Not that he didn't want to cajole him… but it wasn't a lie, either. Weren't there any mirrors in the Tower?

Well, it in fact seemed quite possible, if the way Airam cut his hair was any sign. The crazy kid hated his hair most of all and cut it as short as possible – rather unceremoniously, without even one glance in the mirror. He almost got a heart attack when he first saw it. It took him two months – and that meant two more cuts – to persuade this crazy kid to let him do it instead; and even then he only gave in because they told him, together with Leliana, that the nobles wouldn't take him very seriously if he looks as if he had a sparrow's nest on his head.

Yet, he was sure that if he tried a bit harder, he would be able to bed the crazy kid. In fact, he even made a bet with Leliana that he would. But… and that was the strangest part, perhaps… for some strange reason, he could not gather the courage to do so. On the contrary–sometimes he felt more afraid of the possibility that the boy would say _yes_; somehow, it would seem… _inappropriate_, almost _sacrilegious. _As much as he wanted it, he felt he wasn't worthy, and knew he would hate himself afterwards for spoiling this boy.

What a stupid sentiment for Crow. That he'd miss a chance to seduce someone so beautiful just because of some strange respect, or admiration or whatever was that feeling, was awesomely ridiculous. The great Zevran Arainai, best lover in Antiva – losing his mind because of some crazy… and beautiful… and dangerous… and sweet… and so _utterly impossible_ kid.

It was almost… Almost, as if he… was in…?

Oh gods. Just listen to him. How did his life become such a mess in such a short time? How did he become so soft? Sometimes he wasn't even sure who he really was any more. The more he thought about it, the more lost he felt. Till the point the where he _walked into a tree_, damn it.

And now he was supposed to solve it all and be "back to normal" in only two days. When he didn't even know any more _what_ "normal" was any more.

He sighed. Perhaps he should check if that damn dwarven merchant had some fitting Chantry robe.

* * *

Thanks to my lovely beta Seika for her help, friendship and awesomeness. ^^

Zevran's oath is from Lord of the Rings. It's Pipin's oath to Denethor, and Airam's reply is in fact Denethor's reply. :)


	2. Vicious Circle

Thanks to my awesome beta **Brelaina **for beta-reading this

* * *

**A Vicious Circle **

Zevran almost felt sorry for the guy. His little Warden was not in the good mood to start with and was growing more and more annoyed by every moment. One more clever remark and this pitiful fool would probably end as an ice statute.

"And I'm the Queen of Antiva. What do you say to that?"

"Oh? Well, Zevran here is an Antivan Crow, he should know. Is this the Queen of Antiva, Zevran?"

"My dear Warden, if our Queen was that ugly, her assassinator would be rewarded for service to the nation."

"See there, my Crow disagrees. And I'm getting impatient; I really don't have time to listen to your nonsense. So tell you what. You have time till I count till five–and should you still insist on standing in my way, I'll let him gut you for such insult to his queen. One."

"It will be pleasure, Warden." Zevran gave the Templar a toothy smile and put his hands on his daggers. The Templar was alarmed, but he still didn't give up.

"Look, the Tower is closed. Just turn away–"

"Two."

Now he drew out one of his daggers and lazily played with it. The guy nervously followed every movement.

"It's forbidden! The Knight Commander–"

"Three."

Part of him hoped the Templar would resist; he'd love to see how far the boy would take it. And how the others–especially Alistair–would react should the boy really order him to kill the Templar. In fact, he was surprised Alistair had held his tongue so far; perhaps he wasn't as stupid as he looked, after all.

"You–threaten a Templar at duty–I'll have you executed!"

"Four."

"Fine! I'll take you there. But–but the boat is too small for all of you. I can only take four."

_Ah. Pity_. He sheathed the dagger again and gave the Templar the sweetest smile, but he guy didn't seem to appreciate it.

"Well, I'm one. Zevran, what do you think? Would you like to see the biggest whorehouse in Ferelden?"

He noticed that the Templar jerked at this, and opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Chuckling, he nodded. It seemed this was going to be fun.

"Morrigan, you probably want to stay at the inn. I don't think it'd be healthy for you to go there. Sten, I'm sorry, but you're just too big for the boat. Will you instead please keep our charming witch lady company? And Rask will keep an eye on you, won't you, boy?"

All three of them look rather relieved that they don't have to go. He knew, of course, why it was safer for Morrigan to avoid the Tower, but it was still a pity she was not coming. With her acid comments, it would be even greater fun. Leliana had nicer bosom, but it was so easy to rile her, that it wasn't half as fun as with the witch.

Zevran entered the boat and sat next to the Warden. Alistair gave him an angry look, probably suspecting that he would try to drown the boy or something. It'd been only one week since he joined the group, so he could understand that others did not trust him yet. But even if he still wanted to finish his mission, only an idiot would try something in a situation like this–in a tiny boat, closely watched by the mark's allies _and_ a Templar. No, the Warden was perfectly safe on this boat.

Only it seemed the boy didn't think so. Eyes tightly shut, hands clutching the bench, biting his lip at the slightest rocking of the boat.

"Are you feeling all right, Warden? You don't look so good."

The boy didn't even open his eyes. "No–I mean yes. I just–don't like boats, I think."

Zevran chuckled. "You _think_? You are not sure?"

"Well it is only my second time on a boat… or third, technically. But I was unconscious the first time so that doesn't count."

"But if you lived in this Tower, surely you had to use the boat sometime?"

"I surely _didn't_. Apprentices are not allowed to leave the tower."

He looked at the Tower, at the small, barren island surrounding it, at the ruins of bulwarks and bridges. _A prison_, _the crazy kid spent almost his whole life in this prison_. That explained some things… including his bad mood. He wouldn't be happy if he had to return to his prison either, even if it was as a guest of honour.

"You mean you never left the Tower before Duncan conscripted you?" asked Alistair incredulously. Leliana gasped.

"Wait, you were conscripted? They _forced_ _you_ to join the Wardens? That is horrible!"

"And when did this turn into interrogation about my life? But yes, Alistair, since the Templar dragged me in when I was eight till the moment Duncan got me out five weeks ago, I never left the cursed place. And yes, Leliana, I was conscripted. Now, if you don't mind, I'd really prefer if you talked about something else."

Zevran stared at the boy with pure shock. Conscripted? Five weeks? After ten years in prison? Well, that explained a few things, like why he thought that the dwarven merchant who followed them and always stayed nearby their camp, was giving him _a discount_. Or why he was such a sissy.

But it did not explain why someone who spent most of his life in a prison would be willing to throw away his freedom and life, just to save people who had shut him in there in the first place. People who hated, feared and despised his powers so much they were willing to imprison an eight-year-old child. Why didn't he run away, now that he got the chance? Why was he trying so hard to accomplish a task that would be difficult even for an experienced general?

The Wardens explained to him everything, on his second day–how they must find allies, defeat the darkspawn and kill the Archdemon. So far, they met a few small groups of foul creatures and it wasn't exactly easy to defeat them; he preferred not to think about the whole _horde_. He had immediately decided he would not be anywhere nearby when the Archdemon appears. That was not cowardice, he thought. Just a common sense.

He spent the rest of the trip on the boat musing over these questions, but he couldn't find any sensible answer.

oOo

The whole Tower smelled of rotting flesh and blood. The bigger part of the hall was turned into an infirmary for the injured Templar, only there were no healers to tend their wounds, and the poor men were moaning in pain and fever. Those few still fit enough to fight, were standing next to a man with a strict, hard face, who was barking orders at them.

"Maker, what happened here?"

At Alistair's gasp, the old man turned to them, and anger and hate flashed across his face at the sight of the little Warden. Better to stay alert. He moved a bit to the side, to have a clear view of both of them and of the other Templar, just in case.

"Well, well. Look who we've got here. A regular Grey Warden now, are we?"

"Greagoir." The boy spat out the name as if it was making him sick. "And here I hoped you were out of my life forever."

"Indeed. I _still_ won't forget about your part in Jowan's escape, _Warden_."

"And I'm _still_ glad my friend got away from you, _Ser_."

Cold shivers ran down his spine. He remembered that tone; he doubted he would ever forget it. _Challenging me to show you real torture, are you?_ Luckily, the Knight Commander didn't push it any further. He was not sure he wanted to see the boy's darker side.

"So, what do you want?"

"I need to talk to Irving. A Grey Wardens matter."

"That's not possible, I'm afraid. I don't even know if he's still alive. There was rebellion. Blood mages. And… other things. Demons. Abominations… But don't worry. We blocked them all in. And we already called for Right of Annulment."

"_What_? Did you go completely mad during these five weeks?"

"There's nothing else we can do! We tried, but there are _demons_!"

"And who can expect Templar to be able to defeat demons, right? After all, it's a bit more difficult to fight with an actual demon than to run your sword through drugged and tied up mage!"

"Are you saying I'm a coward?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying! Aren't Templar supposed to be 'protectors' of mages? And now that they need you, you turn your back on them and just slaughter them like cattle?"

"What would you have me do? I can't allow abominations to escape the Tower and go on a rampage in nearby villages!"

"I'm not telling you to _let them escape_, I'm telling you to _kill_ them, you pathetic excuse of a knight! Aaaargh, forget it. I'll do it myself. All I ask is that you don't stand in my way. Let me in."

"You've always been an arrogant fool, just like –"

"_Don't. Finish. That._"

The boy said it quietly, almost whispered, and yet it was much scarier than the shouting before. For a few seconds, everyone just stood there in awkward silence, and then the Knight Commander nodded and turned away. Zevran wasn't aware he was holding his breath until he let it out now. _What the hell was that about?_

"All right. If you are so desperate to waste your life for foolish compassion with abominations, who am I to stop you. But I'm warning you. I won't open that door again unless I hear Irving. And if you are not back by tomorrow, I will invoke the Annulment."

"Fair enough."

"Are you sure about it, Airam?" ask Alistair warily. "The Knight Commander is probably right that it's too late for the mages and we cannot let the maleficars and abominations to–"

"Would you say the same if you knew what Loghain was going to do and had the chance to stop it and save Duncan?"

"I–that's–all right, I get it. I'm sorry."

"What about you two? Are you coming? Leliana?"

"I'm not going to sit by and watch the slaughter of innocents!"

"Zevran?"

"Well you won't hear any complaints about your 'foolish compassion' from _me_. For obvious reasons, I'd say. If you go, I go."

The Warden gave them a little smile and turned to Greagoir. "We're ready. Open the door."

oOo

This, Zevran decided, was his most horrible mission ever. Room after room, all they found was the disfigured corpses of mages. He had never seen so many corpses at once. The stench was almost unbearable and he deeply regretted he ate his breakfast. So far, they did not see any demons or abominations… but no survivors, either. The Warden checked every body they found, but all were lifeless, all were cold. With every next one, the hope was smaller, the feeling of failure thicker. Still, the Warden refused to give up.

There were only two or three rooms left, when the Warden suddenly stopped and held up his head, as if listening to something. "There is someone _casting_. I'm not sure if it's some survivor or something else, so better be ready. "

Zevran was just going to suggest that he will sneak in the room to check the situation, when the crazy kid banged the door open and walked in. Zevran rolled his eyes, irritated. Absolutely incorrigible. Didn't they agree on the battle tactics that would make the best of everyone's skills just two days ago? Which included him or Leliana always scouting ahead, especially in closed areas, to check if there were any traps, numbers of enemies, and such? And at the first opportunity to try it, the Warden forgot it completely and acted like a charging bronto. All right, so the he was still a minor, a fledgling without any training, but that was one more reason to listen to someone who knew how to fight, no? Frustrated, he walked into the room, hoping it was not full of monsters.

Luckily, there were no monsters in there. Well, if you didn't count children. Brats could sometimes be more deadly than a pack of wolves… But these were scared, desperate, with big round eyes full of tears. Most of them were still very young, only a few in their teens. Judging by the robes, only five or six were full mages. And only one senior mage–a rather exhausted looking old lady, who was casting a protective barrier on the door at the other end of the room. No more than thirty in total. If these were all that were left…

"Air, you're back, you're back!"

Bemused, Zevran watched as a tiny girl, no more than five, sprinted to the Warden and hugged his knees. He lifted her in his arms, and hugged her tightly.

"My little star, thanks the Maker you're safe."

"I knew you'd come and beat the bad guys!"

All eyes were now turned on the Warden. Some full of hope, some desperate. And some, especially from older ones, full of doubt and hostility.

"Of course I came. Don't worry, we won't let anyone hurt you. And my friends are great warriors, they'll teach those bad guys a lesson. They don't stand a chance. See the big guy? He's Alistair and he's reeeeally strong, stronger than an ogre. And Leliana, the nice lady with the bow? She can hit even little fly, even this small, see?"

"And the pretty elf?"

"Pretty, is he? Weeeell… perhaps… those braids are pretty. Though yours are prettier."

Zevran smiled at the little girl. "Why thank you, young lady, you have exquisite taste. And you should know better, my little Warden, then to doubt the words of a lady." He bowed dramatically. Leliana was giggling, and so were some of the children. Mostly girls.

"Yes, well, _the pretty elf_ is also a great warrior. If a bad guy tries something, he will slice them with their daggers like tomato – zap zap zap, just like that."

"Really?" the little girl was staring at Zevran with wide eyes.

"Really really. Now, little star, I have to talk to the old lady here, about the bad guys, so we can go and kick their butts. All right?" She dropped her mouth a little, but nodded and the Warden gently put her down. He and Alistair then went to the old lady. It seemed they knew each other.

Zevran would like to listen, but the little girl tugged at his leather skirt. He smiled and sat down next to her. "Yes, my little lady?"

"What's your name?"

"Zevran Arainai, at your service. And yours?"

"I'm Stella Amell. You talk funny."

"Do I?" He heard Leliana giggle.

"Yeah. I like it. Can you really slice the bad guys like a tomato?"

"Stupid Stella. Of course he _can't_," said a surprisingly cold and harsh voice behind them. "And there's only four of them and there's many of those bad guys. And monsters. They will die. All of us will die. The monsters will eat us."

Shocked, Zevran turned to the owner of the voice. The little kid was almost completely bandaged, from head to–what was left of his legs. _Eaten? _In situations like this, he was quite grateful to Crows for teaching him to seem calm despite whatever was happening around him. _What am I playing at here? Why didn't I stay with the Templar? Let the little Warden be the hero. I'm an assassin. The bad guy, __yes__? _

"They won't! B-because, they won't let them! They are great warriors! Air said so! They will save us! Won't you?"

There was unpleasant taste in his mouth and he averted his eyes as he replied, with smile, "Of course we will. We will destroy every single one of them. I give you my word."

oOo

They shared all their food supplies among the children. The eyes of children lit up at the sight of the food. And it was enough to shut up the cold, rational voice in his head that tried to complain that it was not wise, not to take anything with them.

The old lady–Wynne–insisted on going with them. The Warden was not very happy about it, but he could not talk her out of it.

And then the fun part started.

Zevran had never been more scared, though of course he did not let the others see it. He even managed to crack a few jokes with Leliana. But he was really glad Wynne joined them. She was one of the best healers he had ever met, even better than the Crow healers, and that was saying something. The boy also knew few healing spells, but without her they would not stand a chance against those creatures.

_Demons, Zevran, they're called demons_. The Crows suddenly didn't seem all that scary. If you could defeat dozens of demons, a few _humans_ shouldn't be that much of a problem.

_If _you can defeat them.

Floor after floor they climbed up, leaving behind them heaps of corpses. Mostly demons and abominations. He didn't really know the difference and wasn't sure he wanted to find out. But there was one good thing about them. They were not picky about who they tried to tear apart, so there were very few blood mages left. Those few they met were half crazed and not much of a threat.

The Tranquils were much more terrifying. The first time they met one, guarding the storeroom full of charred corpses, he almost killed him. He was sure it must be another abomination. The Warden stopped him at the last moment. Then the Tranquil calmly informed him that he'd '_prefer not to die_'. _Why_, he wondered. Surely death was a better option than such an… _existence_. What was life for, if you couldn't feel anything and enjoy it? But he didn't press it. Wynne ordered the Tranquil to report to the mages they left on the first floor and to help them in search for survivors. As he watched that… being obediently walked away, he thought, with mild surprise, that there were even worse fates than living with the Crows.

On the upper floors, the demons and abominations were joined by possessed Templar. A few times they had a very close call, when both the old lady and the little Warden were stunned or drained of energy. It was almost a miracle that all of them were still alive.

But they were getting tired. _He_ was getting tired. Moving forward by sheer will, he longed for a warm bed. Preferably with soft, _living_ body in it, but if not, a long and sound sleep would do.

And then they were almost there. One last door, one last hall, before the very top, which was the last possible place where the First Enchanter could be, if he was still alive. They walked in, and _of course_ there was a demon. It did not attack them. It whispered tempting words about a rest. A strange fog filled his brain, his eyes started to close, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

Before he hit the floor, he thought he really should be more careful in what he wished for.

oOo

Zevran did not hesitate, or stop. He would not give them that pleasure. Only one more test. Endurance. Meaning he would be tortured. But what were a few more hours of pain? Let them bring it on. Let them try to break him. He will pass. More than that. He will earn their praise, as he did in all the previous tests. He will become a Crow. The best one there ever was.

Only something didn't feel right. Why was he wearing his armour? When did he put it on?

_You worry too much. It is all right. Go on. Live your dream._

_Yes_, he thought, whoever that whispering voice belonged to, they were right. Time to go on. He opened the door and entered the torture chamber with a proud grin on his lips. The enforcers gave him a sly smile.

"Ah, another lovely apprentice to break."

"Look at that smile. He thinks we are as soft as Master Amador. Don't worry, little one. We will wipe it away soon. You will cry for us in less than an hour."

"Mmmm, that sounds _so_ promising. Please, by all means."

They tied his arms behind his back, then tied the rope to his wrists and pulled it over the hook in the ceiling. Then pulled him up. Slowly, inch by inch, until his arms dislocated. The pain was so intense he wondered if he would ever be able to use his arms again. But he did not faint, he did not scream. Somehow, he managed to keep his grin.

"Still smiling, are you? Hmmm, maybe we should put more weight behind our words."

Heavy weights were tied to his ankles. "Still like it? Enjoying yourself? Good. Me and my friend here are going for a lunch. Don't go anywhere, while we're away, all right?"

With that, they went away. How long did he hang there? Minutes? Hours? Days? A whole eternity, it seemed. Every bone in his body was dislocated, or so it felt. Even breathing was painful. His bottom lip turned into bloody mess, so hard he bit it to suppress his moaning. It would be foolish to assume that they really left the chamber or, if they did, that there was no one else, watching, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness.

"Ow, poor sweetie. Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop it? All you have to do is show me tears in those lovely eyes and beg for mercy. I can never resist that. Ask Antonio, if you don't believe me."

"It is true. Come, you don't have to suffer like this. We will stop, you will be healed, and then you can show us your gratitude, no? Outside this chamber, we are really nice to our pets."

"Aaaah… such… enticing… offer… I… hate to… but… refuse…"

They chuckled. Antonio's friend playfully tracing the tattoos on his cheek with his thumb.

Wait. How ridiculous. He got the tattoos _after_ the test. So how…

_Shhh. Do not resist. Rest. Become everything you ever wanted. Sleep._ _Dream. _

"Mmmm… such a pity. Guess we have to put you in different bed, then."

When they cut the rope, he crumbled to the floor, unable to move a muscle. A strong hand gripped his hair and dragged him to the rack_. Sweet dreams on the rack, Zev, _he thought bitterly. _Wh__at_was _that voice, anyway?_

"We will make you scream yet. We won't go easy on you."

"_Nobody_ threatens _my_ friends and lives!"

What? Who was that? That voice was vaguely familiar… but it was not possible… "You… you're… not… supposed… to be… here…"

"What are you talking about? I came to save you!"

_Don't listen to him. He is just another one who wants you to fail. _

"You… cannot… it is… my… test…. I will… become… the best… Crow…"

"You already _are_ a Crow, Zevran. This is just a bad dream. Just a trick of the Sloth demon in the Tower."

Tower? Demon? What nonsense. He was a Crow apprentice. Why would he fight demons in some tower? Perhaps the voice was right, this was just another trick of his Masters–_They are great warriors! They will save us! _A memory of a voice, a little girl... was she talking about him?

_Don't listen to them. Don't let them rob you of your dream–_

_Oh Andraste's sweet ass, enough of this. Think, Zevran._ _Use your own brain._ _Remember. You __**know**_ _this person_. "W-warden? You… are… really here… aren't you?"

"Yeah, we share this pleasant dream together. Don't worry. I'll get you out of there in no time."

He heard the enforcers scream in rage, and the next second, it became much colder. And he knew what it meant–the crazy kid was really here and casting his ice spells. So… this all... the rack… the pain… was not real? Just a bad memory?

"Are you planning to sprawl there for the whole day?"

Zevran grinned as the boy came into his viewpoint. "Mmmmm... tempting idea, but only if you stay with me. So many wonderful possibilities… It would be a shame to waste them, no?"

"Oh? With the _rack_?" The boy chuckled and cut off the ropes at his wrists. Cautiously, Zevran tried to move his arms and legs. A bit stiff, but that was all. He grinned again.

"Of course. There's _nothing_ like a good racking."

"Duly noted. I bet Arl Eamon will have one in… Wait, what are you doing?"

He was just about to ask the same. It seemed as if something was pulling the boy backwards and he was quickly disappearing. One frustrated "No, not you, too!" and he was alone again.

oOo

Zevran had enough. And enough was too much. Stupid demon obviously didn't know that many tricks, so it kept bringing poor imitations of his former Masters and fellow Crows. They were popping up almost behind every corner. Now that he was awake, it seemed so pitiful he felt embarrassed he ever fell for it.

So of course, it was _her_ turn now. Nothing he did not expect. He was looking at the scars on her neck and he was swelling with rage.

"Will you kill me again, Zevran?"

"As many times as necessary, _demon_."

When the body hit the ground, he walked forward, without one glance back. There must be some exit from this labyrinth. And once he was out, he would make matching scars on the neck of that Sloth demon.

oOo

When he finally found the portal and stepped through it, he found that the Sloth demon was a bit preoccupied talking with the Warden. It seemed he was the last one to appear; for some illogical reason, it irritated him even more.

"If you return, I'll do better this time. I will make you happy."

"Something better than _an archivist_? No! I can't imagine what that would be," snapped the crazy kid mockingly. "But I think I'd prefer to kill you now, if you don't mind."

Sadly, the demon _did_ mind and was determined not to allow it. Enraged as they were, however, it was not a very difficult fight and soon enough, it lay slaughtered at Alistair's feet.

"And _stay_ down!"

But the demon disagreed again. It got up, as if it wasn't _dead_ just a moment ago and actually transformed into even bigger and uglier form. Not good. Their rage was quickly turning into despair, and soon it was just stubbornness and pride that was keeping them moving. By the time it was really dead–after another two risings and transformations–they were all exhausted, numbed with pain and soaked in blood. And he was sure at least two of his ribs were broken.

"You did it! You defeated the Sloth and his guardians! I would not believe it was possible!"

Yet another spirit was coming their way. He suppressed a frustrated snort and readied his daggers, but the Warden didn't seem alarmed at all.

"What, were there any doubts? Now come, let's get out of here."

But the spirit just shook his head. "It is too late for me… I've been trapped here for too long."

"Don't say that. There is still time. There must be some way. Don't give up now, Niall, please don't give up, not now that we won!"

"It's all right. I'm going back to the Maker… I'm going back home. I just wish I was a bigger help. But I'm not like you. I'm such a failure, I have disappointed everyone again…"

"That's not true. You're a hero, my friend. You should be proud." The Warden sounded a bit hoarse, as if he was fighting the tears. Which he probably was.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you more… now and before. I should have tried harder… No time now. Don't forget the litany, when you're back. It will help you stop Uldred."

The little Warden stood there quietly, watching the place where the spirit of his friend was just a second ago, face completely blank. Zevran realized he felt sorry for him. It surprised him. Why would he care? Why should the fact that his previous mark lost a friend mean anything to him?

oOo

The boy sighed. "Damn, this is complicated. How am I supposed to cast spells and recite prayers at the same time?"

"I could help with that. I am a Chantry sister, remember? Litany of Andralla is not that long… but you'll have to reply, all of you. A litany is a collective prayer."

Zevran flashed a brilliant smile at her. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for such a lovely woman, my dear. Just tell me what I have to do."

"It's rather easy. There are three responses that are repeated all the time: hear us, help us, give us strength, in that order. So when I say the first line of the prayer, you'll all say 'hear us', when I say the second line, you'll reply 'help us', after the third, it'll be 'give us strength'. Then, with the fourth one, you reply 'hear us' again..."

"Right. I get it."

"That doesn't seem too difficult."

The Warden just nodded. Zevran had been secretly watching him since they returned from the Fade, but even if he was depressed about the death of that Niall, he was trying not to show it. Zevran had to admire the boy's determination, even though he could not understand it.

"Let's go, then," said the Warden. "I don't know how long we were at that cursed place and I don't want to be _nullified_ after all the hell we went through just because we were a few minutes late."

Zevran got up to his feet, suppressing a hiss. The old lady had healed and bandaged them as much as she could, but it was still difficult to breath and move. To fight a powerful blood mage in this state… The Warden briefed them in what Niall told him while they were caught in their nightmares, and they tried to make some battle plans, but… they were all aware how desperate a battle it would be. Curse that Uldred, he really couldn't choose a worse time to take over the Tower. Couldn't he do it few days earlier?

oOo

And desperate battle it was. Though thanks to the litany, they at least prevented Uldred to manipulate the other mages. At first, it was difficult to remember which reply they should say, but once they found their rhythm, it was easy. The first would be told by Alistair, second by Wynne or the Warden, as they were alternating in casting, and the third one was always his. He wondered if he would ever be able to fight without yelling '_O holly Andralla, bulwark of true believers, give us strength!_'

And then, finally, it was over. He did not remember how they managed to come back down, until small hands hugged his legs and he heard someone shouting something like "My hero!" But that, of course, couldn't mean him. He was an assassin, not a hero.

Other people were shouting, and laughing, and asking questions, and there were so many hands touching him, hugging him, and someone even kissed him. Soon, it all became a blurred mess… and he could not keep his eyes open any more. _I hope I won't wake up on the rack again_, he thought as he collapsed into someone's arms.

oOo

When he woke up again, he was lying on a bed–a real bed, with real sheets and the Warden was sitting next to him, reading.

"W-warden? Where… am I?"

"Awake already? You were supposed to sleep the whole day," Warden said, in a mock accusing tone, quickly laying the book aside. "How are you feeling? Hurting somewhere?"

It was surprising, but he was fine. Nothing hurt, not even his ribs. "No… just still a bit tired."

"Good. Well, you _were_ healed by the First Enchanter himself. And to answer your question, we're still in the Tower. We were all quite beaten and Irving insisted that we had a proper healing and rest."

"So… we returned in time? To stop the Templar?"

"Yes, we actually returned a few hours early. Aren't we awesome? Oh, and congratulations on your betrothal."

"On my _what_?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember! How cruel of you! Why, Stella asked if you would marry her when she's grown up, and you agreed! Everyone witnessed it, you know. There's no way out now."

It took him a few seconds to realize just _who_ this Stella was and that the little Warden was joking and joined in laughing heartily.

"All right, enough fun. I'll bring you something to eat. You must be starving. Stay in bed, or Irving will have my head."

"Warden?"

"Yes?"

"I… Thank you. For coming for me, in the Fade… Not many people would come to save an assassin."

"I didn't go to save an assassin, fool."

"Yes, I… understand that, but–even so–"

"I went to save a friend."

He stared at the doors handle long after the boy left, wondering why that answer made him feel so happy and proud.

* * *

_Few explanations:_

_One thing that always irritated me about DAO was the messy time line. When Duncan comes to recruit my Warden, there is already a war. When they come to Ostagar, it is clear the battle is "tomorrow". If the first quest is The Broken Circle, Wynne says that the Warden has been away for almost a year. But unless the Warden spent a year lying comatose in Flemeth's hut, it makes no sense… I'm going to change that._

_Also, in Lothering, Loghain's men try to kill the Wardens–they even have the exact description. And then, suddenly, Loghain doesn't know about that the Wardens survived until Howe suggests hiring the Crows? Doesn't make sense, either. I decided that if he could know to send guards after you immediately in Lothering, he could also immediately hire Zevran. So Zevran is going to be in all adventures._


	3. Demons Of Our Own

_I never liked that magic could hurt allies. Never saw any sense in that – why is it 'realistic' that someone can conjure a huge fireball, freeze everything around, cause a storm of the century – but the idea of the same person being able to control the spell and who will it hurt is not. One of the first mods I downloaded was one that fixed this._

_Those who will recognize what inspired Airam's speech will get a big internet cookie from me. :)  
_

_Thanks to Seika, my wonderful beta, for her help. Thanks to her, this chapter is new and shiny. :D  
_

* * *

**Demons Of Our Own**

How ironic. Only few days ago he had laughed at the Wardens for being incorrigible fools, trying to help everyone in a pathetic, doomed village. And now, there he was, trying his best to help them do the same. Except this village was even _more_ pathetic. Life really was a bitch.

After what happened in the Circle Tower, he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. It didn't really matter where they went, as long as there were no demons there. It was rather modest wish, no? But the first thing they found out when they arrived, was that the village was under attack, by some sort of monsters. And _of course,_ they had to help. Personally, he wouldn't do it, but he kept the thought to himself. Morrigan and Sten provided more than a sufficient dose of snapping and sarcasm.

Besides, the boy was already on edge. First, there was Alistair. The poor simpleton really thought that it is enough to drag the boy few meters away, to tell him his secret. Of course he spied on them. As did Leliana and Morrigan. Wynne apparently somehow knew already, and Sten couldn't care less. So they all knew he was a royal bastard, but they pretended to have no idea. But while _he_ was amused by all this farce, the little Warden was clearly not. The boy was bright enough to realize the consequences, and it seemed he was more frightened of nobles' games than of the Archdemon. Which was not surprising after all, he was an elf, a mage and only recently a released prisoner.

And if the leaders of this pathetic shithole were any indication, the little Warden was quite right in his thoughts. Incompetent as they were, they were still convinced of their superiority over an elf. The Bann was outright rude when they first met, talking only to Alistair and ignoring the boy completely. Oh, the look on his face, when Alistair pointed out that _the elf_ was in fact the leader who must approve of helping to the village! Priceless! The Bann quickly apologized, muttering that he didn't know elves were allowed to be Wardens.

If Airam was hurt by such behaviour, he didn't show it. He just asked the Bann about the attacks, and what was done to defend the village; even Alistair had to see that his almost-relative was totally incompetent.

Really, it almost looked as if the idiots _wanted_ their village to be destroyed. Their defence was practically non-existent. Women, children, and elders were simply crammed into the Chantry. When the boy asked why they were not transported somewhere to safety, the Bann haughtily explained that it would not be wise, with the current political situation–Loghain trying to get the throne and the Arl Eamon gravely ill-to spread news in other towns and villages about some monsters. At the rather sarcastic question if total annihilation would not cause even greater panic, the fool replied that they had the situation under control.

The boy merely stared at the Bann for a moment, then asked innocently if that meant that their help was not really needed, then. And once again, the look at the Bann's face was priceless. It took all of his Crow discipline not to start laughing. Even Alistair looked embarrassed by the Bann's stupidity. After all, they all saw how "under control" the situation really was, when they arrived into the village.

There was a small group of knights–most of the castle knights were gone chasing some long lost relic–but they were unorganized, depressed, and resigned. Then there was the militia, hastily organized by the mayor of the village. Half of them were drinking in the inn; their biggest worry that the beer was too expensive. The other half was "patrolling" outside, which meant they were doing nothing but whining about how they were going to die. Which was probably true, seeing as how inexperienced they were. The few men that had some fighting experience barricaded themselves in their houses, ignoring the militia and their "defense" of the village. And the cherry on the top was the smith, who shut himself in his house, stubbornly refusing to open the forge, trying to drown himself in bad beer instead.

And Teagan was "controlling" all that chaos from the safety of the Chantry–doing nothing. Oh, well, maybe he was wronging him. Maybe he was praying to the Maker to send some powerful warriors at the last minute.

Then again, it had apparently worked – they were here, no? Hmmm.

So now Alistair, Sten and Leliana were busy improving the defense, pulling up barricades, giving some basic tips to wannabe soldiers, and explaining basic tactics. Wynne and Morrigan were trying to figure out what kind of magic would be the most efficient against the monsters–by description they were some kind of undead. Neither of them was too happy about this forced cooperation, but in the end, they agreed–Wynne from the sense of duty towards the helpless villagers, and Morrigan thanks to nice jeweled bracelet that the boy gave her. Where and when he got it was anyone's guess, but he surely pulled it out in the right moment. Full of surprises, that kid.

So that left two of them, plus the beast that the boy claimed to be a dog, with the pleasant task of "lifting morale", which meant trying to sweet-talk rebels that for some reason preferred their own life over the collective suicide, into obedience. Sometimes they had to explain to the poor fools that sacrificing their lives for the greater good was not only the most honourable death, but also the least painful one. In comparison with being burned to ashes by one very irritated Grey Warden, for example.

Well, in fact, the little Warden only used threats once, at the silly dwarf, he forgot the name again, and his silly companions. They were incredibly stubborn, resisting all arguments and promises, and only when they noticed small sparks between his fingers, did they realize how selfish and despicable their previous behaviour was.

The boy even managed to persuade the smith to start working, more as encouragement for soldiers than anything else. It was not likely that he would be able to do everything he ignored during last three days. But having armor seemed to help; the moment the men saw the smith working again their mood improved, and there was a bit less whining.

Then they got the blessed amulets for the commander of knights, who didn't know how to speak to an elf as to an equal, from the revered mother, who was surprised to see an elf behaving like a civilized person. The result being that the little Warden was so furious, that the next human that would dare to speak to him would most likely end up as a frog. Not that it wouldn't be fun, but this was probably not the best time for it.

"May I make a suggestion, Warden? I believe we've helped every single cretin in this village, and we still have some time left. Let's take a break and go for a drink. What say you?"

"You mean in that disgusting, smelly, mouldy, dirty hole they call an inn?"

"Come now, it's not that bad. Well, it is, but it's still better than nothing, no? We might well be dead in a few hours, surely you don't want to die thirsty and grumpy because of some stupid _shem_?"

"Riiiiiight. Because being grumpy with diarrhea because of some foul beer sounds _so much better_."

Laughing, he dragged the boy to the inn. It was almost empty now–all men that could fight were training outside, and most of the others were already in the Chantry. The innkeeper seemed to be almost as frustrated as his little Warden, and glared at them with open hostility.

"You again. What do you want now? Haven't you ruined my business enough already?"

"My dear man! How can you say so? We earned for your inn eternal glory! During next generations, all people will want to come to the inn where the most famous Grey Wardens were, and drink the same beer they did! Thanks to us, you will be rich and famous! Surely that deserves some appreciation? Let's say, in the form of one hundred percent discount for the Grey Wardens and their party? Starting right now, of course. Bring us the best you have, and we will spread your fame even beyond the borders of Ferelden!"

The innkeeper did not seem to share his enthusiasm about the glorious future, but he did not dare to protest. Grumbling, the guy disappeared in the back of the inn and soon the maid came, with two pints of beer. He had to smile when the boy's face brightened immediately. But he was more concerned with the guy who just came downstairs from one of the rooms. If that wasn't a spy, he never saw one.

"Bella. That guy who just came–the elf with the bow–who's that?"

"That's Berwick. He's staying here, for more than a week. Says he's supposed to meet his brother here. He never talks to anyone. Really weird one, if you ask me."

"What do you think, Zevran; shouldn't we try to talk to him a little bit? To find out what bothers him?"

He nodded, glad to see that the boy was sharp enough to understand. They took their beers and went to sit down next to the elf, who did not seem to be pleased at all.

"Hello there! So nice to see a fellow elf! What brings you to Redcliffe at this troubled time?"

"Leave me alone. Just because we're both elves doesn't mean we have to be friends, Warden."

"Ah, you wound me. But as you wish, we won't be friendly, then. And how do you know I'm a Warden?"

"What? I–uh, I overheard it somewhere. Now if you don't mind, I'd prefer to be alone."

"But I do mind, I'm afraid. So, once again–what is an armed and armoured elf doing in Redcliffe?"

"If you really have to know, I'm waiting for my brother!"

"And what would your brother do here?"

"I–that's none of your business!"

The guy was starting to panic, looking around for any possibility of escape. It was pathetic. Whoever hired this man had wasted their money.

"Look… why don't you try telling the truth, for a change? It would be faster, easier… and for you, also _healthier_."

"I–I'm not afraid of you! Just because you're a Grey Warden, you cannot hurt innocent people!"

"And who's going to stop me? Now, I'll only ask this _one last time_. What are you doing in Redcliffe?"

The boy's voice was cold and menacing. _Holy Maker, he could easily scare even Crow Masters_. The elf guy started to whimper, defeated.

"P-please, don't kill me! I'll tell you everything! I was hired to spy on the Arl, but then these attacks started, and I couldn't get even near to the castle any more!"

"To spy on the Arl? Why? Who ordered it? Go on, don't stop talking now."

"The man who hired me he said he was working for Arl Howe, he said it's the king's business, that Eamon was a traitor to the country. I – I really didn't do anything wrong. I came here ten days ago, and then, three days later, the Arl became ill, and it seemed he was going to die soon. But then, a few days ago, the castle's gates were shut and no one could get in, and in the night, those monsters appeared. Since then, I wasn't able to get any news about the Arl and I don't know if he's dead, or what to report. That's all, really! I don't know anything about those monsters. "

"And you stayed here? Did you think that those monsters will say, 'hey, he's not from here, let's not hurt him', after they kill everyone else?"

"No, I–I wanted to leave today, before the nightfall…"

"I have a better idea; you'll go out, and find Leliana–she's a pretty red-haired girl, you can't miss her–and offer your help in the defence of the village. What do you say?"

"Yes! Yes, I'll do that! T-thank you for your mercy, kind Ser!"

The guy bowed down and bolted out. He arched an eyebrow on the boy, who was grinning widely.

"What? I _tried_ to be nice. _He_ said we don't have to be friends!"

"I fully agree. Feeling better?"

"Not enough."

They were about to leave the inn–they should prepare themselves, as well, after all–when the innkeeper came, yelling at them for "driving away his guests", and claiming they should pay him "lost profit". The fool would probably have gotten away with that, if he hadn't mix in a few "knife-ears" and "dirty beasts". And right then, it was the worst possible thing to say in front of the little Warden.

"You know, I have to wonder; why is such a fine, brave _human_ not out there with the soldiers, defending the village?"

"What? No way. Call me a coward, but I'm staying out of that mess. I don't want to die."

"No? In that case, I have a proposal: either you go and help, or you die right here and now. What will you choose?"

"You have no right to do that! Bann Teagan said –"

"Bann Teagan made _me_ the leader of the defence. And if you refuse to help, I will consider it desertion. The sentence for that is death. So make your choice, now."

"All right, I'll help, you… murderer." The innkeeper turned away and walked out as quickly as his big belly allowed him, murmuring worst curses he knew.

"And now?"

"Still not enough; too easy. But I already know who my next victim is. But first – this puts Bella in charge here, no? So I guess we should pay."

He disagreed, but kept it for himself, once again. After all, what he said to the innkeeper was true. This damned place would become famous, once the little Warden became a hero. A few free beers was the least that they could get, after all they had to do here. But if the boy wanted to play a gentleman, he was the last one to spoil the fun.

"Bella, how can you stand that fat pig? A beautiful girl like you deserves much better than to work in a cesspit like this."

"It's very nice of you to say so, Warden, but I have nowhere else to go."

"Why not? You could leave, for Denerim, or anywhere else. What keeps you here?"

"Forgive him, my lady. He's a fledgling, fresh from the Circle Tower, has never had to take care of himself and has no idea what he's talking about."

"Is that so?" The boy shot him an angry look. "Hm… well, all right, it probably is. But… perhaps I could help, somehow? At least I could give you some money… or something…"

That was quite unexpected, and girl suddenly looked wary and suspicious. "Why would you care? What do you want from me?"

He grinned a bit, when he saw the boy blush a little. So sweet and innocent. So he prefers women, does he? Never mind; he wouldn't be the first one whose horizons he broadened.

"No, no, that's not… all I want is, that you wouldn't work in a place like this any more. Nothing else, really!"

"You may trust him in that, my dear lady. He simply is like that. Helping everywhere he can. A day without saving some poor soul doesn't count for our Warden."

"Right now, I'm starting to regret saving one _particular_ poor soul." The boy glared at him in mock anger.

"Yes, well, maybe it will be rectified tonight. And if you don't want to die as well, we really should go to see the others."

"Yes, let's go to see the Bann, shall we? I want to, ah, discuss few things with him."

He looked at the kid curiously. Surely he cannot mean to; no, he wasn't _that_ foolish. That would be dangerous game, even for the Grey Warden. Then again, the kid was crazy enough to do it, and to get away with it. On the way, the boy stopped to tell Alistair to get all men to the square in front of the Chantry for a small pep talk from the Bann. Alistair welcomed it as brilliant idea–and he had to agree. He thought he knew where this was going, and if he was right, the Bann was in for a long night.

But the boy gave the Bann the chance–the Bann could give the talk himself. It was his own fault he left it to the crazy kid, who accepted with suspicious willingness.

When they got out, the small square was crowded with men, grim, scared, and full of doubts. The boy and the Bann went right into the middle, the boy looking as if he did this at least once per week. When they got everyone's attention, the boy took a deep breath, lifted his arms, and begun.

"Men, I know you are afraid of those monsters. Yes, they are strong, and they are greater in numbers. But remember, men, we are Fereldans! All real Fereldans love the sting and clash of battle! Ferelden loves winners and will not tolerate a loser. Fereldans despise a coward; Fereldans fight to win.

"Do not fear death. Death, in time, comes to all of us, as my friend here often says. And every man is scared before the battle. If he says he's not, he's a Makerdamn liar. The real hero is the man who fights, even though he's scared. A real man will never let the fear of death overpower his honour, his sense of duty, to his home and to his manhood.

"And one day, when you're sitting around the fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did when Redcliffe needed you, you won't have to shift him to the other knee, cough, and say, 'I crouched in the cellar with rats.'

"So tonight, we will fight, all of us together–Bann Teagan, me, the Wardens, all of you–tonight we will fight as one! Humans and elves, mages side by side with knights! And we will be unstoppable! We will win and destroy all those monsters once and for all!"

He never understood how he managed to keep a straight face. But it worked. The men were cheering, looking more confident; everyone, except perhaps, the Bann. The poor guy had no chance now but to fight. As a noble–a _Fereldan_ noble–he probably had better martial training than most of these fellows, so he should be all right. Still, it was risky game. He would probably not forget this little trick, and that could cause problems later. Ah well. If that happens, he would just have to assassinate him, no?

"So, what do you say? Was it good? I never did something like that before."

"Oh, it was quite glorious, never fear that. Did you read that in some book?"

"Well yeah. But I did not remember it all. The original was much longer and more eloquent."

"No, no, this was quite enough, I assure you. So what now, my dear Warden? Are you finally content, or do you want to recruit the revered mother, as well?"

"Hm… perhaps I should. You saw Leliana fight, no? I'm sure the revered mother would be just as lethal. Her tongue certainly is poisonous."

"Hahaha, you're certainly right there. But honestly, I don't think it's such a good idea. And besides, shouldn't you go to Wynne and Morrigan to see what they found out? You really don't have time for this any more."

"Right. And Zevran… I–what I said in the inn, I didn't really mean it."

"I know. No need to apologize, Warden."

"Just… try not to die, all right?"

Suppressing the desire to pull the boy in a hug and passionately kiss him, he just grinned. "My dear Warden, I might not be Fereldan, but I always fight to win."

"I seem to remember otherwise."

That sent shivers down his spine. Did it really mean what he thought? But how would the boy know? He swallowed and quickly turned away. "Do not worry. Tonight, I will do my best. I will survive."

oOo

And he did. Barely. If those monsters were organized, if they had any sort of strategy, Redcliffe _would_ have fallen. Luckily, they were not very clever. It was the first time he was in such a battle, and he once again confirmed his skill in stealth and assassination.

But it was worth it, if only to see the combined power of three mages. Andraste's sweet ass, he never saw anything like that, and he hoped he never would again. When they summoned the storm at the same time – the boy ice blizzard, Morrigan tempest with lightning, and Wynne adding some mass paralysis spell – he forgot to fight, for a moment, and just watched, fascinated.

Magic was beyond his grasp. He could never understand how it was possible that destructive spells did not affect the caster or his allies. The boy and Wynne both tried to explain to him how it worked, but all he got from it was that it somehow included the Fade and strong will. _We use our magic to reshape the reality at our will. The spells reflect our will, do what we want them to do. I really cannot put it more simple_, was the boy's conclusion after long and fruitless discussion on the subject.

He was awakened from his fascination by one particularly ugly undead trying to crack his skull, and focused on fighting again. In the end, it was not the magic that saved them, but good old sunlight. At the first sign of dawn, the monsters became disoriented, as if disconnected from the will that ordered them to move forward. They stopped fighting, dropped their weapons and started to slowly retreat back to the castle. It was easy to slaughter them.

So victory it was, but nobody felt like celebrating. Many died, and most of those who survived were severely injured. The three unwilling defenders survived; the Bann wasn't even injured that badly. Of course, that wasn't surprising–he knew Alistair had been constantly at his side, protecting him and that the boy secretly placed few protective spells and glyphs on him. Much more surprising was that the innkeeper and Howe's spy survived as well, though the innkeeper would probably have nasty scar on his face. Despite obvious exhaustion, Wynne immediately started with the healing. The boy was about to help her, when he was pulled away by the Bann. Curious, he silently followed them.

"If I may, Warden. We should decide what to do next. Or they will be back again at sundown, and this time, even with your help, we won't make it."

He noted with no small amusement, that the man's voice was most respectful, even bit humble, now.

The boy nodded. "We must find out what is behind this. That means we must get to the castle. Tell me, how many people usually live in the castle?"

"Forty servants, and some two hundred soldiers–many were sent to find the sacred Urn of Andraste's Ashes, however. Why? Wait… you don't think… they were turned, somehow, into those… monsters?"

"It would be one explanation. But I'd say we defeated more than that number today, and it was the fourth attack… They must be summoned, then. Is there any way to sneak in? Whoever is summoning them, it would be best if he didn't know we're coming."

"There is a secret passage, leading to the mill. So do you have a plan? We should make our move quickly."

"Give me half an hour. We'll meet at the mill."

When the Bann was far enough from them, he and stepped out of the shadows. "If you need someone sneaking around, Warden, I believe I'm the best choice."

"Yes, it would seem so. Still alive, I see?"

"My dear Warden, I intend to die in the arms of some deadly sex goddess–or a god, I'm not picky-not at the decaying hands of a man _already killed_ by someone else."

After a short but intense quarrel, they finally left for the castle. The boy decided to go only with him, Morrigan and Leliana. They were tired, but without serious injuries, and after drinking a few potions, felt ready and willing to go. Sten was injured, his right arm broken in two places, and Wynne could do more good healing the others, so they quietly agreed to the plan. Alistair, however, was furious and determined not to give up easily.

"It's because of–of what I told you, isn't it! See, that's why I didn't want to mention it till I had to!"

"Nonsense. It's because we're trying to sneak in, and you, Al, in that armour, could not sneak past deaf and blind cripple!"

It took few more similar compliments on both sides, till Alistair submitted and stormed away. Such a pity they were in a hurry–that was quite funny to watch.

oOo

When they arrived to the mill, they found out the Bann in the company of a woman–he introduced her as Arlessa Isolde. The moment the boy found out who she was, he became rather cold toward her. Probably because of Alistair. Still such a child, this Warden.

The Arlessa gave an explanation of what was going on at the castle, but it didn't really explain anything. She said there was a mage who tried to poison the Arl and then monsters appeared and there was _something_ _evil_ that was keeping the Arl alive and now it required the Bann to go with her back to the castle, alone. The boy warned the human that it was probably a trap, and that the _something_ was probably a _demon_. But did the foolish man listen? Oh no. Why would he listen to the knife-ear who just happened to save their pathetic village, yes?

So the two of them ran off, and they could only hope they would not tell that _something_ about their arrival through the secret passage.

The secret passage was really the shortest way to the castle, and led straight to the dungeon. Which was flooded by those monsters, of course. So much for _sneaking_.

Then they heard those screams. Desperate, blood-chilling screams. The boy stopped, eye widening in horror. At first he thought the boy was simply scared, but then the boy run forward, ignoring Leliana's warnings and Morrigan's curses.

"Jowan? Jowan, where are you?"

He exchanged glances with Leliana–they both remembered the name. The old Templar geezer in the Tower said that the little Warden helped some _Jowan_ to escape. Well, whoever it was, it seemed he hadn't escaped that far .

"What are you doing, guys? Over here, quickly! Open these damned doors for me!"

Slowing down, he let Leliana step forward and unlock the door. He wasn't so good at picking locks–he knew the basics, but never really needed it. All his marks opened their doors–and anything _else_–for him more than willingly. But he didn't think it wise to admit that to the Wardens. At least, not until he'd found something in which they would depend on him, so they would be willing to forgive a small lie without gruesome consequences.

The man in the cell was crumpled on the floor; whimpering, covering his head with hands, clearly unable to recognize the boy or anyone else. He was almost naked, wearing only some torn and dirty loincloth and a magic-blocking collar. There were the traces of severe whipping, inflamed and swollen, covering his back, bottom and things.

"No, no, please, it wasn't me, I didn't summon them, not any more, I'm begging you, please, _please_, just _kill_ me, don't leave me with those monsters…"

"It's all right, Jon, it's me, Airam, I'm here, can you hear me? It's all right now, I'm here, I won't let anyone to hurt you."

So that's the mage the Arlessa mentioned… that didn't make any sense. If he was powerful enough to summon hundreds of walking corpses, why would he let them to imprison and torture him?

But it seemed the little Warden didn't care about it at all. It was probably the first time he had ever seen the victim of torture, and the fact that the victim was his friend made it even worse. Kneeling down, the boy tried to heal the wounds, but his hands were shaking, and the spells were much weaker than usually; the collar prevented both casting and receiving magic.

"Leliana, can you do something with that cursed collar! Morrigan, hand me some poultices, Zevran please guard the door and make sure we're not interrupted. Blast it! Jon, what did those bastards do to you!"

Morrigan and Leliana were cleaning his wounds, and then rubbing in the poultices. The boy sat down and put Jowan's head in his lap, striking his hair and softly talking to him, calming him down. For some reason, that made him feel envious of the unhappy guy. He tried few lascivious comments, but the boy just gave him that look–the '_don't-disturb-me-now-with-idiotic-remarks'_ one–so he stopped, and just watched.

Much later–he'd guess it took at least one hour, or even two–they were finally done; Jowan was covered in poultices almost from head to toes, but at least he was able to stand and walk.

And answer a few questions.

"Jowan, _what happened_? How did you get to be _here_, of all places?"

"Because I'm an idiot. I was caught shortly after I left the Tower and Templars took me to Denerim, to be publicly executed as a maleficar. But in Denerim, I was suddenly taken to the palace, to the Teyrn, and – "

"To Loghain? What for?"

"He had an offer for me. He said that if I did a service to the Crown, my offences would be forgiven, and not only would I be allowed to return to the Tower, but they would also free Lily from Aeonar. If I refused, I would be executed."

"To poison the Arl?"

"So you know already. Yes, that was my doing. I feel sorry for him, he seemed to be a decent man, though the Teyrn told me he was a traitor trying to usurp the throne. But I had to try to save Lily. I knew the Teyrn needed me just as a scapegoat, I'm not _that_ stupid. But Lily… I'd do _anything_ to get her out of that place."

Those words hit the nerve. To do that for a woman… for a moment, he almost wished he was able to do something like that. If Ri- if _she_ was not killed, but imprisoned… would he have done anything? If he had time–if she wasn't killed so quickly–would he try to find out if she was really guilty? Would he try save her if he knew she wasn't? He would _like_ to believe he would.

The crazy kid would save her even if she _was_ guilty.

After a brief discussion, it was decided to take Jowan with them; it was not safe to leave him behind, in an unlocked cell, and even though healed, he was still weak and if attacked by those creatures, he would not survive for long.

And so they went trough the castle, leaving a bloody trail behind them. It was good that Morrigan was with them–most of the potions and poultices were spent on Jowan, so the boy had to concentrate mainly on healing spells. Still, after what he went trough during the night, or in the Tower, this was more boring and annoying than difficult.

They were finally near the main hall, when they suddenly heard music and someone laughing, and stopped. In all that destruction and dozens of walking corpses, the sound was… unnerving. Warily, they readied their weapons and entered the hall.

It was easily the creepiest thing he ever saw. The hall was full of people, laughing, singing, dancing –all with blank expressions, all with empty eyes, as if they were some ridiculously big puppets, moved by invisible strings. In the centre of it all was the Bann, dancing–well, at least trying to dance, skipping and waving his hands like a monkey. The Arlessa was standing next to a boy, obviously her son, who was laughing and clapping, as if it was most natural thing in the world.

When they entered, everything stopped. The boy glared at them, with pure hatred in his eyes.

"Are these the ones who spoiled my fun in the village, mother? They look strange. What are they?"

"They're elves, Connor. You know elves, we have… had elven servants in the castle." The Arlessa tried to sound cheerful, but her voice was shaky and terrified, and her son narrowed his eyes in anger.

"Ah yes, I remember. I fed their ears to dogs, didn't I? They were chewing for hours!"

He quickly glanced at Airam. The boy did not pay much attention to the child, carefully studying Arlessa's face.

"So he is the evil you mentioned. Your son. An abomination."

"How dare you call me that, elf! I should cut your ears, too–not only have you spoiled my fun in the village, but now you have ruined my party as well! Who do you think you are? What do you want from me?"

"I came to help." The boy kept his voice flat; it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

"Help? Help who? My father? He is fine, I took care of him. Me? I do not need your help. I do not want you here. Leave now, or die."

"Funny, I just wanted to suggest the same thing. Get out of him, leave and never return. Or I will slay you."

The boy-demon screamed and run away from the room. And the same moment all those human puppets attacked them.

"Try not to kill them. They're in a trance and don't know what they're doing."

It was actually easier than the expected; the humans were not armed, and it seemed a good beating did them well, awakening them from the trance. What a pity it didn't work on all humans.

"Teagan! Are you all right?"

The Arlessa ran to the Bann, glowering a bit at the little Warden towering over the man.

"I'm fine. Where's Connor?"

"I don't know! He ran away, when _these_ arrived."

"If you prefer to deal with this yourselves, I would be only too happy to oblige." The boy's voice was cold as he stared at the Arlessa as if she was a bit of smelly dirt on his robes.

"No, no! Please, Warden, don't leave us now, or all we've done–all _you've_ done in the village will be for nothing! You must help us to end this madness, please!"

_Ah. A real quick-learner, this Bann, isn't he?_

"You are aware that the boy is an abomination, right? He is possessed by a demon. I'm afraid the only way to stop this madness, as you say, is to kill him."

"No! No, you _cannot_ do that! He's just a baby! Please, have mercy on my son! I'm begging you!"

The boy's look softened when he looked at the Arlessa again; he suddenly looked sad and exhausted. "If I knew any way how to kill the demon and save your son at the same time, I swear would do it. But that's not –"

"It _is_ possible." Jowan gulped nervously, as everyone turned to stare at him.

"You!" The Arlessa's face twisted in fury; if the Bann Teagan didn't hold her, she would gouge Jowan's eyes out. "You traitor, this is all your fault! You caused this, you summoned the demon! Why are you torturing my family? What have we done to you, to make you hate us so?"

"I didn't! I swear I – "

"What is that man doing here?" The Bann turned to the little Warden, fuming. "He should be rotting in the dungeon!"

"Enough." The boy didn't shout. And yet it worked. Everyone shut up and looked at him.

"Look. I had a _very_ bad night, and an almost equally bad morning, with no sleep, and no food; I'm drenched in the blood of decaying corpses and I have terrible headache. So now _one _of you will calmly, and without shouting, explain everything to me. And I mean _everything_. No more lies and secrets. Is that clear?"

The Arlessa nodded. "I apologize, Warden. But this man... he poisoned my husband!"

"I said, _no shouting_. And I already know that. You called him a traitor. Does it mean you knew him before he poisoned your husband?"

"Yes, I did. Connor started to show signs of magic. I was scared that the templars would come and take him away from me, drag him to that Tower and I would never see him again. So I… I hired an apostate mage, to teach him magic in secret. I hoped, if Connor learned to hide his power… "

"I see. And then?"

Jowan sighed. "Then I did what Loghain told me to do. I put the poison they gave me in the Arl's cup," he explained, avoiding the Arlessa's gaze. "It was supposed to look as if the Arl died of illness, but the healers quickly found out the real reason, but they could not help him. I was caught and put to dungeon. I knew nothing of walking corpses or demons until the Arlessa visited me in the prison three days later."

The boy nodded, and looked at the Bann. "Why didn't you tell me all this earlier?"

"I was not here, I only returned from Denerim at the evening of the first attack, and didn't enter the castle until now.."

"Jowan, you said there is a way to save Connor?"

"Yes, there is a ritual. I can open a portal to Fade, and then another mage can get in and kill the demon in there. Connor would be unharmed; it would all seem just like a bad dream to him."

"So what's the catch?"

"It's a blood magic ritual. Someone will have to be… sacrificed."

"Then sacrifice me!" shouted Isolde, trying to squirm out from the Bann's grip. "I will do anything to save my baby!"

"Isolde, no! Eamon would not allow this!"

The little Warden did not reply. Zevran shot a sympathetic glance at him. How could they ask the boy to make such decision? Couldn't they see that the Warden was still a child himself? He felt anger rising in him, at all those pathetic fools that couldn't take responsibility for their own lives. It surprised him.

"In the fade… like the Harrowing?" The boy chewed his lip thoughtfully. "But it means there must be another way…"

"Well, yes. But the Harrowing ritual requires preparations, a lot of lyrium, and several mages… it takes time."

"And we have none of it–especially time. Whatever we do, Warden, we must do it before the sundown. We won't survive another attack. But I cannot let Isolde sacrifice herself. We must find some- other solution." The Bann folded his arms.

_Someone else, you mean. Best some worthless knife-ear, yes?_ Zevran was furious. _If the Bann suggests sacrificing someone else, I will quickly solve the problem by sacrificing _him. Really, all this was hardly worth their trouble. They should kill the abomination and be over with it.

"We could get mages and lyrium from the Circle Tower… but it would take too long to get there. It took us full day only to get here… with the way back, it's two days." The boy frowned.

"Perhaps we could paralyse the kid somehow, till we get the help…" Jowan was obviously trying to prove his worth.

"Or we could bring some Templars to clean the area of magic…"

Morrigan snorted. "Such a _brilliant_ idea, Leliana. I'm sure they will love our company–a maleficarum, an apostate _and_ an abomination… Really, you should spend less time with the Chantry boy… 'tis having bad influence on your brain."

"Then I can ride to the Tower, I could get there much faster, no? Surely you have horses at the castle?" Leliana turned to the Bann.

"Yes, but _mages_ cannot ride," the boy pointed out before the Bann could answer.

There was a moment of uneasy silence, as they had run out of ideas. He rolled his eyes. Really, he thought at lest the little Warden would realize the solution…

"_Or_ we could use the _boats_."

Everyone turned to him, as if they had forgotten that he was also there. The Bann stared at him with his mouth open for a while, then bolted out of the room.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, I think he just went to prepare the boat."

It was good to see the boy grinning again.

oOo

The rest of it was easy. They quickly agreed on the plan; Jowan and Morrigan would try to stop Connor from doing any more damage. Leliana would go to fetch Alistair and Wynne, just in case. The little Warden would go to the Tower on the Arl's ship. It could take ten people plus the crew, so it would be enough for all mages needed for the ritual. He volunteered to go with the boy. The boy refused at first, telling him to take some rest, but seemed actually glad when he insisted.

It took three hours to get to the Tower; they used it to get some sleep. Ignoring the protests of the Knight Commander, the boy marched right into the Irving's office, slamming the door to the Templar's face. The man was furious, and for a while it seemed he will rush in and drag the boy out, but thought better of it. Perhaps the fact that Zevran was standing right next to the door with devilish grin and hands on his daggers had something to do with it.

Preparations were done in surprisingly short time. The Knight Commander insisted on taking some Templars with him, and the boy insisted that in that case, he wanted only the "queen of Antiva". When the poor guy heard he was to go with the terrifying Warden and his murderous friend, he became almost as pale as the boy.

And so here they were, on their way back. The boy was quietly sitting on the deck, reading some book. He was also quietly sitting on the deck, carefully watching the boy. It suddenly occurred to him that the boy only looked relaxed and at peace when reading a book. Lost in his own world, he could ignore darkspawn, demons, and all those people asking for his help all the time.

"Warden? May I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." Despite the answer, the boy did not look away from his book.

"This Jowan… he's the blood mage you helped to escape, right? Isn't that a capital offence?"

"It is." The boy was still rather uninterested in the topic.

"So… why didn't you run away with him?"

"Running away from the Circle is useless, while they still have your phylactery."

"Phylactery?"

"A vial of mage's blood. Used to trace runaway mages lest they become evil maleficars and go on the rampage."

"How can a vial of blood help to trace someone?"

"Oh come on. You're not that stupid. It's actually pretty obvious."

"Are you saying that Chantry hunts down maleficars by using the blood magic?"

"Surprised?"

"No, but still, to make a deal with a demon just to hunt others who did the same…"

The boy laughed, but seemed a bit disappointed. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear about magic, Zevran. You don't need any demons for blood magic. All you need is a lot of blood. Now, if you would excuse me. I think I'll go rest some more."

That was most interesting. Was the boy trying to defend his friend… or himself?

oOo

Everyone expected it would be the little Warden, who would enter the Fade to fight the demon. But the boy made Jowan do it. They were not happy about it–Jowan least of all–but the boy was stubbornly refusing to see the reason.

And so Jowan went there, equipped with Airam's own staff, amulet and ring. While they were waiting, the boy tried to look calm, as he had to bear questions and comments and accusations of being ruthless and too trusting.

He thought the same thing, in fact. But to hear them say it, after everything the boy did to save their pitiful asses irritated him to no end, though he wasn't sure why. He almost wanted to drag the boy out of the hall, somewhere where these fools would leave them alone. _Tomorrow. We will be out of here tomorrow. Just hold on a little bit longer_.

How very wrong he was.

Jowan wasn't back more than five minutes–really, the boy hardly had time to say "See, I told you you could do it"–when Wynne, who was tending the Arl the whole time, came running.

"Warden, we have a big problem."

_Of course._

* * *

_Airam's speech is based on the speech of general George S. Paton: www. lizmichael patton. htm_


	4. Catching Up

Thanks to Seika, who turns my mess into English. :)

* * *

**Catching Up**

It had been less than three weeks since he had pledged his loyalty to the little Warden. In those three weeks, he had fought against darkspawn, demons, abominations, possessed humans, and walking corpses. And now he was on a quest to find a legendary relic; in every legend, he knew, there was always some legendary monster. Oh well. Better an exciting life than no life at all, yes?

He turned back and saw that the little Warden was too far behind again. It was strange to see him dragging behind; usually he was in the front, leading. He _tried_ not to care, reminding himself he was an assassin, _not_ a babysitter. It didn't matter _how_ desirable the crazy kid was. Then again, he would look very stupid before the Crows if, after travelling with one of their best, the boy would be finished off by some dim-witted darkspawn_, _no?

So he had to make sure that the boy survived. If _he_ didn't kill him, no one would. It was as simple as that. Pure professional assassin pride.

What else would it be?

Calling to Alistair, he stopped to wait for the boy. The others stopped, too, though they did not seem too worried. Sten was as unconcerned as always, and Alistair was too busy listening to one of Leliana's stories about the tragic fate of star-crossed lovers. Perhaps he should challenge her; make a bet about seducing Alistair. They had already made a bet about him seducing the boy. Poor Leliana. That would be the fastest money he'd ever earned, _and_ one of the most enjoyable.

So far, he hadn't really tried. Every evening when they set camp, he would approach the boy, determined to do it, and every evening they'd end up talking about pretty much anything else, but mostly about _him_. It seemed to be the favorite topic of the little Warden. _Where did you get that tattoo, Zevran? Tell me some of your adventures, Zevran, please? Will you teach me Antivan, Zevran?_ _Do you enjoy being an assassin, Zevran?_ And let's not forget, _Zevran, could you teach Alistair to make fish chowder?_

The only thing more frustrating than all of those questions was his willingness to answer them. Every night, musing about it in his tent, he would decide that it was the last time he answered them, that he would not tell anything more, that the next time he would refuse. Politely, but firmly. But the next evening, the boy would come and sit next to him and ask him something, and he'd get completely lost in those big, purple eyes again…

As the boy came nearer, the others moved on. He wanted to do the same, but then he caught a hint of disappointment that crossed the boy's face. It must had been boring and irritating to walk alone in the back all the time, while the others were obviously having fun. So he patiently waited as the boy was trying to catch his breath, pulling his backpack down to get the flask with water.

"Warden, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm just bit tired, is all. You should hurry up or you'll miss the end of Leliana's story."

The boy was trying to sound normal, but he could not hide the bitterness completely. _And he's right. _He_ wouldn't leave any of _us_ alone, until he'd find out what's wrong. _Even though he had not known the boy very long, he did know that much.

"Ah, that doesn't matter; I already know what the end will be, anyway. All these stories are the same. The young couple will promise eternal love to each other and seal it with a night of passionate sex, but the evil noble, who is in love with the girl, will get mad and send the lad to the army, to the front lines. Then the lad will get killed and the noble will try to seduce the girl, but she will refuse of course, and then kill herself to be with her love at least in death. Then a few new stars will appear in the sky as a symbol of their love."

He tried to imitate Leliana's dramatic narration, and was rewarded by a merry chuckle. That was much better. A smile suited that face so much more.

But something was wrong, very wrong. The crazy kid was trying to hide it, but now, when he watched him closely, it was so clear he could have kicked himself for not noticing it earlier. The boy was sending a constant flow of healing magic to his legs. Was he injured? Did he hurt himself during the trip? But why in the world would he keep quiet about it? And if the boy did not want the others to know it, should he bring it up? Concerned, he watched as the boy lifted up the backpack again, sighing.

"Here, let me help you." He took the backpack from boy's hands and cursed. "Andraste's sweet ass! Warden, what are you carrying in there? A baby bronto?"

"Of course not–ah, I mean–just few things…"

"No wonder you're tired! Hell, even _Sten_ would be tired if he carried _this_ all day!"

"I, well… oh, just give it back. That's _my_ problem." The boy glared at him angrily and tried to take back the pack.

"No."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"I mean that I will not give it back. Tell you what. I'll carry this… _monstrosity_ and you'll take my pack."

"But…"

"No buts, my dear Warden. Come on. Let me help you. As a friend, hm?"

That was surprising, for himself just as much as for the boy. Nothing more than a tactical lie, he tried to assure himself, when the boy nodded and they changed their backpacks. Professional pride. There was nothing more to it. Nothing at all.

oOo

It was only when he watched the boy retiring to his tent, leaving his boots outside, that he finally understood what was wrong. Oh Holy Maker. The Warden really was just a crazy kid, wasn't he? He felt angry, amused, and sorry for the boy all at the same time. It was easy to forget that the little Warden spent most of his life in that cursed place, forbidden to go out of the Tower and without any soldier training. How was the poor kid supposed to know how to pack himself for a journey? Or which boots he should take?

After all the others retired as well, leaving him alone for the watch, he went to the boy's tent and picked the boots… or what was left of them, as they were practically destroyed. They were not real boots in the first place. They were those fancy mage shoes made from cloth, embedded with lyrium. Perfect for smooth floors of the Tower, sufficient for wide paved roads, but pitifully inappropriate for rough paths in the mountains. The crazy kid had to feel every stone in those. No wonder his legs hurt.

He had to do something. There was the soft light of a candle coming from the tent, so the boy was still not asleep.

"Warden? May I come in for a while? I'd like to talk to you in private, for a moment."

Not waiting for a reply, he opened the flaps of the tent. The boy was reading again and didn't even bother to look up from the book. "Not now, Zevran. I'd like to finish this before I go to sleep."

"Ah, my dear Warden, I'm sorry to interrupt you from your intellectual pleasures, but I'm afraid this cannot wait. It is a matter of the highest importance, see."

"Oh? What is it?" The boy put the book aside and look at him curiously.

"Well, first, let me assure you that this is not what it might look like… unfortunately. For me, that is. But back to the matter. I want you to show me your feet."

"You want me to do _what_?"

To tell the truth, he half expected the boy to freeze him, or at least turn him into a frog, but he sounded more bewildered and amused, than angry. That was encouraging.

"Please, my dear Warden, try to keep your voice down or our friend Alistair will think I'm trying to assassinate you, while I'm only trying to help you."

"And how does seeing my feet help me, exactly?"

"You were healing yourself the whole day. I want to see why and how bad it is.'

For a while, the boy just stared at him. Then he sighed. "So you noticed, did you? But don't worry, it's nothing serious, I'll be perfectly fine tomorrow– "

"No, you will not. Not in those shoes, at least."

"You know about that as well? But really, you don't have to worry. I will fix them during my watch."

"What do you mean, _fix_ them? Nobody can fix those any more! Why don't you wear another pair? According to the map we got from that knight, we should reach the village in a few more days. I'm sure we can get some proper boots for you there."

"Yes, that's a very nice plan, but there's a catch, I'm afraid. I don't _have_ another pair."

It was his turn to stare, speechless.

"What do you mean, you don't have another pair? What do you have in that big pack, then?"

"There are… other things that are much more important than _shoes_…"

"Care to show me?"

"Not really, no."

"Ah, but I'm afraid I have to insist. I will not leave this tent until you show me what is in that enormous backpack that is so important."

They glared at each other, but then the boy dropped his eyes, looking nervous and a bit ashamed. Taking that as an agreement, he opened the backpack and placed every thing from it neatly on the bedroll; his shock, disbelief and amusement increased with every thing he pulled out. He expected that it would be bad, but this was much beyond his expectations. There was some raw lyrium and other ingredients, poultices and potions, food and the flask with water, but most of it was–

"Warden. Can you explain me why you carry with you half of the Redcliffe library?"

"Nonsense. Half of the Redcliffe library would take at least two such backpacks."

"Oh, my mistake. I apologize. But still. Why do you carry… just a moment… why do you carry _nine_ books with you? Nine _big_ and _fat_ books, if I might add?"

"And how do you think I learn new spells? You think I just wake up in the morning and find out I learnt a new spell in my dream?"

"Yes, I understand that, but – _nine_ books? You really need _all_ of them?"

"I'm a fast reader. I'm already reading the second one. Besides, I wasn't sure what I might need."

"But it never occurred to you that you might need a second pair of shoes, or robes? You came in the mountains with only what you are wearing?"

"I'm an _ice mage_, Zevran, unless you haven't notice it yet. Cold will not harm me. Clothes are not that important. I need to study; I need to be prepared."

"It's not just about cold! What if something happened, if your robes were torn, like your shoes are now? Would you climb trough the mountains naked? While _I_ would not protest, not everyone here would agree, I'm afraid; Alistair would probably begin stuttering, you know."

The boy chuckled. "Yeah, I guess he would. Look, I know I'm a fool without you telling me, I just… I really didn't think that anything could happen."

He sighed. "Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about the robes for now. We must hope that nothing will happen till we find that village. As for the boots, you'll take mine. Don't worry, I have a second pair. And I'll take half of the books; I still have a lot of room in my backpack. You choose which ones."

"Zevran, that's–I can't accept that!"

"And why not? I offered it willingly. This is what friends do, help each other, no?"

The look in the boy's eyes was almost worth all the trouble and discomfort it would cause, he thought as he was returning to his tent. So… grateful, and warm, and shy… it warmed his heart a little.

But it still meant _nothing_. It was duty now to take care of the crazy kid, that was all. Just professional pride, he told himself.

Somehow, it was more difficult to believe than before.

oOo

With the backpack much lighter and proper boots on his feet, it was easier for the boy to keep up the pace. He stayed near him, giving him instructions on how to breathe, how to walk over the rocks, how to jump over some fallen logs and other such things. The boy was trying as hard as he could, but he was not dexterous. Perhaps they should start some proper training.

Later in camp, he wanted to change his watch with Alistair, so that he would have the watch before the boy. He intended to let the boy sleep, until Leliana's turn. The next morning he would wake him up early and start with the training. The crazy kid was a Grey Warden, for Maker's sake! It's time he caught up with his title.

But there was something else that troubled him. Something was in the air; he felt it, but was unsure as to what it was. He carefully watched the others for any sign of anything unusual, wishing that Morrigan was there, as well. She would probably know.

She and Wynne had to stay the castle, trying to keep the Arl alive; he had only survived so long because of the demon's agreement with Connor and when the demon died, the Arl almost died, as well. And he would have, if it wasn't for the combined powers of Wynne, the First Enchanter, the little Warden, and even Morrigan. That gave them some time, but not more than six weeks.

Six weeks to find the ancient relic. Of which they already spent one and half week. At least they knew where they should go; when the Arl became ill, and nothing could heal him, the Arlessa remembered Brother Genitivi, who was doing some research about Andraste and the resting place of her ashes which were supposedly able to cure any disease. So she sent her knights to find Genitivi, and one of them returned just in time to tell them that Genitivi was in Haven, and even gave them the map.

Which was, as Leliana was just explaining to Alistair and Sten again, the proof that the Maker himself was guiding their steps. To which Alistair was nodding thoughtfully, Sten was frowning scornfully, and the little Warden was ignoring completely. The crazy kid was so fully concentrated on the book he was reading, he wouldn't notice if Maker decided to appear in their camp in person.

Suddenly, he realized he was not the only one watching the boy.

"_Parshaara_. I've had enough of this nonsense." The Qunari stood up and, ignoring the surprised glances from Alistair and Leliana, stormed to the boy. "Warden. We need to talk."

"Not now, Sten. Step aside, please, you're ruining my light."

"Now." Sten took the book from the boy's hands and tossed it aside. The boy stiffened, then slowly got up, crossing his arms over his chest. This was not good. Zevran put his hands over his daggers, preparing for fight, and could see Alistair do the same.

"All right, Sten, what do you want? Make it quick."

"I want to know what we are doing here. You are a Grey Warden. We should go and kill the Archdemon. Instead, we are hunting ashes of some long dead woman."

"It is necessary. To defeat the Archdemon, we need an army. To have an army, we need the Arl. To save the Arl, we must find the Ashes. You know that."

"I disagree. We do not need the Arl to kill the Archdemon."

"Well, that's your problem. I think we need him, and as I'm the leader, we're doing what I say. Now, if you don't mind – "

"No. You are not the leader any more. From now on, I will lead us. You can either submit, or fight and die."

"You want to _fight_ _me_? As you wish. Alistair, stay out of it. You too Leliana, Zevran."

He did not like this at all. The Qunari was twice as big and heavy as the little Warden, and if he hit the boy with that huge sword only once, he'd be finished. But if the big oaf expected that they'd follow him, he had to be extremely stupid. No chance. They'd avenge the boy's death immediately.

But he did not have to worry. The boy was too fast for Sten's cumbersome sword, easily avoiding every blow. Only after the big Qunari became totally frustrated, the boy started his counter attack. First freezing spells, then attacking with crushing spells. Most of them he knew already, but there were also few new ones, like the one that covered his fist in rock;he had never used that one before. Did he learn it during this trip, from those books? Soon, the Qunari was on his knees, defeated.

"I am sorry, Warden. You are strong."

"You have strange ways of atonement. Perhaps you should work on that temper of yours."

"Will you not kill me?"

"No, I will not. Live and do as you wish."

"Then I will stay. Lead and I will follow you."

"Fine." The boy turned away, picked the book, and without further words, left to his tent.

The rest of them stared at Sten, unsure what they should do. He would much love to gut the big fool, but as the boy decided to let him live, he probably shouldn't. Sten stood there for a moment, as if he was daring them to attack him. When none of them did, he also retired to the tent.

During the night, he slipped into the Qunari's tent and stuck one of his daggers in the ground next to his head. As a reminder.

Purely of professional pride, of course.

oOo

Nobody talked about it. Sten and boy avoided each other as much as possible, and the boy was unusually quiet. He tried to cheer him up, but it didn't work; the boy was too lost in his thoughts to register it.

Then, in the evening, the boy came to him. "Zevran… may I ask you something?"

"Of course, Warden." _Well, what would it be this time? What is the best bookshop in Antiva, perhaps?_

"I… do you trust me? As a leader, I mean?"

"Yes. I do."

"Even though I'm so pathetic that I don't know how to pack myself?"

"No, Warden, I trust you because you realize that you're not perfect and you're trying as hard as you can to improve. If this is about Sten; that pompous oaf would not be able to lead a toddler to the nursery. He's so sure of his own superiority above anyone that doesn't follow Qun, and is so blinded that he would have every one of us killed long before we reached Archdemon."

The boy grinned a little. Oh Maker, how he would like to cup that face, to kiss it, again and again, till they would be both breathless and... and he noticed that the boy was looking at him curiously.

"I'm sorry, Warden, I didn't hear you. Could you please repeat that?"

"I asked if you remember what my name is."

"I–oh. Of course I do. Why?"

"Because I would much prefer if you could stop calling me 'Warden'. I hate it when people call me that. I hate to be reduced only to my title. Names are important; they show who you really are. I'm not just any Grey Warden. I'm Airam Surana, one of the two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Besides, it also shows that you trust the person, that you consider him or her a friend."

He understood. He knew about Qun's teachings on names, and trust and friends. Thinking about it briefly, he decided there was nothing wrong in giving the boy the answer he wanted to hear. It would be… professional, no?

"Of course… Airam. As you wish."

"Thank you, Zev. It really means a lot to me." And with that, the boy was gone.

Zev? Did the boy really just call him _Zev_?

_Calm down, Zevran. It doesn't really mean anything. Friendship does not exist. It's less than an illusion. An empty word to manipulate fools. Right?_

Right.

Yes, he was looking forward to another day with the boy; he had already prepared the series of exercises that he would force the boy to do, starting with push ups. But that was also only part of his professional pride. He must help the boy to become stronger, in order to defeat the Archdemon. Yes. That was it.

But then why… _why_ was he disappointed the boy _didn't_ ask about the bookshop?


	5. Epiphany

Thanks to Seika for her help and comments. :)

In case you wonder: Airam is 18, but the majority in my version of Ferelden is 21. However, because he already passed Harrowing, he is considered an adult. Zevran calls him 'boy' or 'crazy kid' because he's older and much more experienced, than Airam.

Zev finally accepted that it's more than 'professional pride' that he's feeling… but it will still take some time till he accepts that it's love. So no, they won't be together any time soon. And besides, Airam is definitely not an 'easy lover'…

* * *

**Epiphany**

When he first heard about Haven, back in Redcliffe, he thought it was simply one of those dreary little villages where people lived the same way they had done for hundreds years ago and still, for some irrational reason, believed that it was the centre of the whole universe. He had seen more than one such place in his past, as they were often considered the best place to hide by those who knew they were targeted. Rather silly, if you thought about it, because such places were also the first that Crows checked. Haven however… well, he wouldn't recommend that anyone hide in Haven. Except perhaps a few particularly irritating individuals.

The first thing they noticed when they arrived was... emptiness. It was only early afternoon; there should be men and women working on little farms, tending animals, and talking with their neighbours. There should be children, fooling around and laughing. But there was nothing, except for a few stray hens. They tried to knock on a few of the doors, but nobody came to reply.

Then they found one house that was not locked, and entered. The stench was unmistakable and horrible, and they exchanged anxious glances before they continued. Silently, they entered into the room from where it was coming. It was small kitchen, with a stove, table, corner bench–and a big altar. Covered in blood. _A lot_ of blood. Airam gasped, and quickly left the house, followed by Leliana. Alistair looked pale, but joined Sten and himself in searching the rest of the house. He examined the altar. For something to bleed that much-whatever it was that was butchered there-it had to be still alive, and rather big. Judging by how dry the blood was, he'd guess it was done this morning.

Once they assured themselves that there was nothing else to find there, they quickly left the place; Airam's face was still a bit greenish.

But that was just the first of the pleasantries that Haven offered to its visitors.

Somewhat later, they found a living person; a creepy little boy, silently humming some morbid song, so unfitting for a child. After a bit of persuasion from Leliana and his little Warden, the boy told them that everyone was in the Chantry, except for him and the shopkeeper. _Now that is intriguing_. The village was quite isolated from the rest of the world, situated miles from the main paths trough the mountains, hidden in a small valley. That they had a shop there was already surprising; but that the shopkeeper would be so busy to stay in the shop when everyone else was attending the sermon, well, that was… suspicious.

The shop was reeking of death and blood, just as the house with the altar, but before they had a chance to explore it the shopkeeper came running, shouting angrily that the shop is closed, and that he did not sell to strangers, anyway. He was wearing tall boots and a black leather apron stained with something dark; something that looked just like blood, which did nothing to remove their suspicion.

Airam gave Zevran one quick glance, then stood so that the shopkeeper could not see him, haggling about some poultices. He understood, of course, and quietly melted into shadows, sneaking to the back room.

It was good that the little Warden didn't see it. Yes, the shopkeeper had obviously been very busy before their arrival, cleaning the altar after butchery. He felt sick, but forced himself to endure it. Then he saw something small at the foot of the altar, and picked it up. It was a signet ring; he hissed as he recognized the arms on it. Alistair was not going to like this.

Slowly, he returned to Airam, who was still discussing prices with the shopkeeper, and slipped the ring in his hand.

"Another altar. Fresh."

Airam's eyes widened as he recognized it, too. Passing it to Alistair, he glared angrily at the shopkeeper, who finally noticed something was wrong.

"Where did you get that? Give it back!"

"I will be asking questions here. And you will answer, obediently and truthfully."

"What? Who do you think you are? Get out. I wasted enough time on you. I won't –"

"_I want to kill you_. Slowly. I want to gut you and leave you to bleed on that altar of yours. I really do. Give me reason, and I will." Airam's voice was soft, and calm–too calm. This was _not_ a bluff. The crazy kid really meant it.

But the stupid man did not realize the danger. Instead of obediently answering a few questions, the fool suddenly pulled out the dagger hidden under his shirt. But before he could attack the boy, before any of them could react, Airam cast the spell; the one he knew only too well from his own experience. Rays of light pierced the man's body, and he was shrieking in pain and despair. Airam just stood there watching it, calm and quiet. When the body finally collapsed at the floor, he turned away and left the shop.

oOo

They walked to the Chantry in silence. Airam was lost in thought, his face blank, just like one of the masks they used for the carnivals back in Antiva. Zevran knew that expression only too well; this was the first time that his little Warden killed someone in cold blood, and not in the heat of battle. Although the man was a cruel murderer, Airam still felt remorse about it. It was… touching. It reminded him of a time when he was still able to feel something like that.

"That brooding does not fit your angelic face. You shouldn't let it trouble you. The bastard got what he deserved."

"Am I any better?"

There was so much bitterness in the boy's voice, he could not stand it. "Oh, let me see… are you an overzealous murderer that keeps a handy altar in his house for the slaughter of random travellers?"

"So? I murdered that guy… "

"No, you did not. He was armed and wanted to attack you."

"Yes, but still… Zev, I _wanted_ to kill him. I'm the same monster as he was."

"You realize you're saying this to _an assassin_, yes?"

Airam's eyes widened–no, that thought apparently had not crossed his mind. "I didn't mean it like that! And besides, it's different, you had no choice– "

"Is that so? In many cases, I _wanted_ those people dead, and I was glad I could be the one to end their existence. And I _enjoyed_ it when I sunk my daggers in them."

"Yes, but if you were not a Crow, if you were not _ordered_ to kill them, you wouldn't have done those things."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Perhaps I would have. And if I was in a situation where someone threatened my life; if I had to choose between their life and mine, then yes, I would do it."

They stared at each other for a moment and he felt anger rising in him. He wasn't sure if he was angrier at the boy or at himself. _Well done, Zevran. But go on, I'm sure you can disgust him even more, if you try_.

"Do you regret now that you let me live?"

"No! Of course not. That's not… I just… never mind. I behaved like an idiot. Sorry. Really, Zev, I–I'm _glad_ to have you with me."

That touched something in him, evoking a whirl of emotions he couldn't quite name, of which he did not even know he had them, until now._ Crazy kid. How does he always manage to say the most impossible things? He should be disgusted, he should despise me, and send me away. Or kill me. Unlike him, I _am_ the monster._

"And here I am, happy to be had. Now come. Two such terrible monsters together, that sure means trouble. What would the others think if we started devouring each other right here?"

"You really wouldn't want to devour me now. I'd have a foul taste; I'm still feeling sick."

They moved forward in a much better mood. Real pity it didn't last long.

oOo

As they reached the door of the Chantry Airam stopped, suddenly looking uncertain. "I'd like to avoid another fight, but I'm afraid there will be lot more lunatics like that shopkeeper in here. We will fight _only_ if they attack first. I don't want the slaughter of innocent children, nor a killing rampage in the Chantry. You hear me, Sten? And try not to provoke them, all right? Zev? Can I ask you not to try to seduce the Revered Mother?"

"Only if I can make up for it later, with you." He flashed his slyest smile Airam, who only rolled up his eyes.

"Let's go, then. And remember–we do not want to fight."

oOo

The Chantry was crowded. Practically everyone from the village was there. In the centre, there was an altar like those they had seen before, but bigger and more ornamented, and without any blood. It seemed there was some ritual going on, led by a tall man dressed in Chantry robes, while the others were chanting some dull, monotonous chant to Andraste.

When they entered, the chanting died away, as people turned to look on the intruders. The man that led the ritual glared at them with pure hatred, lips curled up in a cruel and confident smile. The pathetic fool obviously thought that he had an advantage, with so many followers around him. But a few glances around revealed that the problem would not be getting rid of them, but to follow Airam's order _not_ to kill them. Just how they were supposed to solve this, he had no idea.

"Well, well. Such honourable guests in our humble village. I bid you welcome, Wardens. I am Revered Father Eirik. Might we know who you are, and to what do we owe this honour?"

Airam frowned. "Enough of this nonsense. We saw your altars. We know you killed at least one of the knights from Redcliffe. So let's stop pretending that this is a normal village. I want to know what is going on here and how you know who we are. And where is Brother Genitivi?"

"Ah, ah, so demanding. See, this is what happens, my children, when you let strangers into our village. First there was only one, and we were kind, we were welcoming. And how did he repay us? By questioning our traditions, our faith, even our Holy Lady herself! Then more came, and you still wanted to be kind, to give them the chance to amend their ways. But they, too, refused to give up their sins. And now, there are these Wardens and in their arrogance, they think they can insult us, that they can insult Her! My dear children, learn from this. Let this be a lesson for you, to not let your hearts falter, ever again!"

"That is not true!" Leliana protested. "We're not here to offend your beliefs. I am a sister too, and I am sure–"

"Do not dare to compare yourself to us, woman! You and your Chantry, all you do is deny our Lady the glory she really deserves! But soon the whole world will know, when she returns to her children again, and everyone will bend their knees before her."

"When she _returns_? What are you talking about?"

Eirik didn't bother to answer Leliana's question. He gave the signal to his men and attacked them. At least they didn't have to fight children–some of the women quickly led them out. They did it with a surprisingly calm air, as if this was just a short break from their sermon that would be solved quickly, and then they would continue their chants. Who knew how many travellers had accidentally reached this Maker-forgotten place on their way through the mountains and had their lives ended on that altar.

It was a tougher battle than he expected because, although most of the villagers were poorly equipped, they more than made it up with their fanaticism. Plus, there was quite a lot of them. Eirik turned out to be quite a powerful mage, and soon it was a battle between him and Airam, while they were dealing with the villagers. It was funny thing, he thought, when he watched his little Warden–for he determinedly stayed at his side–that he was quite clumsy as they climbed the mountains, yet in battle he was agile and fast.

Airam was totally focused, _absorbed_, in what he was doing, and yet somehow _relaxed_, at peace, at the same time. Just like the ship, he realized. Even when shouting commands at the rest of them, he hadn't seemed fully aware of their presence… _No. _No, it's actually the _other way round; _usually he was too aware of people around him, always a bit shy and defensive… strange, for someone who grew up at a place like the Tower, always surrounded by prying eyes, without any privacy.

It was a pleasure to watch him, though those robes could be bit more revealing… perhaps he should persuade the boy to go shopping… even in this dreary country, they must know something about fashion, no? At least in Denerim… yes, that should be their next stop. And the sooner they got rid of these pesky fools, the sooner they would get there.

Finally, the battle was over. He was exhausted, but without any serious injuries, and so were the others. Which was good, because Airam would not be able to heal them. The boy was sitting on the floor, panting, completely drained of energy.

"Damn, that old bastard was really tough. We should try to find some clue about what they did with brother Genitivi. Could you please do it? I don't think I can walk just yet."

There wasn't much to be found; even before the fight, there were few things that would have any value, and now… well. He looked around the Chantry. Everything was smashed and drenched in blood; even the stone altar was cracked in few places–the work of Sten's big sword, no doubt. In the vestry, they found only a few old Chantry robes, candles, and a disturbing number of sharp cleavers.

Then Leliana discovered a hidden door. They couldn't find the key, but Sten quickly solved that problem. The room was dark and smelled of mould. As they entered, they heard some sounds, as if something was prowling on the floor on the far end of the room. They quickly drew their weapons and Airam summoned the small ball of light.

They looked at the pitiful figure, chained to the wall. It was a man–that was all that could be said about him. His face was so bruised it was impossible to recognize any features, and his voice, as he talked to them, was hoarse and barely audible.

"So you came to end it?"

And that was how they found Brother Genitivi.

oOo

He was becoming more and more anxious, all his inner alarms set off. Something was not right, something was in the air. They should get out of this cursed place, quickly. Airam was still healing Genitivi, with Leliana's help.

"Airam. You can finish that somewhere else. Let Alistair or Sten carry him, if he can't walk. But we must leave. Now."

The boy looked at him, surprised. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, but… this place… people here… we must go. _Please, trust me_."

And the boy nodded. "All right then. Alistair, please help Brother Genitivi. Sten, could you take Alistair's backpack?"

"What? You can't be serious! We won't find a safer place – "

"The assassin is right. We should leave."

Sten's remark was enough to make Alistair bite off any further complaints. After all, Sten was the only one of them that had any real war experience. They quickly started to pack poultices, potions, and other things now scattered around Airam and Genitivi.

"The key, did you take the key? Eirik always had it with him! We need– "

"Yes, the key. Zev, did you find any key on Eirik?"

He shook his head. "No, there was no key, only the star-shaped amulet I gave you."

"That's it, that's the key. Don't forget it–"

"All right, all right. I get it, we must not forget the key. Now calm down. Everything's going to be fine."

But it wasn't. Of course. When did anything go smoothly for them? It seemed that the moment they came somewhere, everything started to go downhill. This time was no exception. When they reached the entrance door, they found they were barricaded from the other side.

"There's another door in the vestry–"

_Crash_. Windows were smashed into thousands of splinters, as something flew through–

"Fire grenades! To the vestry, quickly!"

They raced to the vestry and out of the door, which was not blocked, thankfully. There were people outside, this being an obvious, though it was a rather poor attempt for an ambush. The boy cast a paralysis spell, but did not allow them to finish the fools.

"Stop! Eirik and other people who attacked us are dead, but there's no need for anyone else to die. We mean no harm, we are leaving. But if you attack us again, I won't forgive you. I'll burn this village to ashes, if necessary to protect my friends. Think about it, before you decide to follow us."

They walked through the village, hands all the time on their weapons, but nobody attacked them. In fact, other than the ambushers they did not see anyone else, although they knew they were being closely watched and followed. It was creepy, and when they finally left the cursed place behind them, they all sighed in relief. Brother Genitivi assured them that the Temple of Andraste, supposed safekeep of the holy relic, was not far away now.

He wasn't sure if he was happy about that. Somehow, the idea of the temple being so near that village of lunatics made him uneasy. Maker only knew what they would find there.

oOo

"Wow."

"Amazing."

"I wish I could have seen it in its greatest glory."

Their voices echoed through great halls. Even ruined, with the roof caved in in several places, the temple was still breathtaking. The halls were big, with ceilings so high that even if three Stens would step on each others' shoulders they still wouldn't be able to reach it, as Airam pointed out. The walls were decorated with ornaments and reliefs, depicting scenes from the life of Andraste and her followers, or of the war. Most of them were at least partially damaged, but it was still beautiful artwork.

"Leliana, could you sing something for us? Please?" Airam flashed his sweetest smile on the bard, but she didn't need much persuasion, anyway. Really, not to sing in a place with such perfect acoustics would be a crime. And if there were any fanatics, they must already know that they were there; the echo in the empty halls multiplied every sound so much, it was impossible to walk quietly.

When Leliana started to sing, the whole world seemed to stop. The lyrics were in Orlesian, so he did not understand it, but it was full of sadness and loneliness, and he felt tears pricking in his eyes. _I've gone too soft_. But right then, it didn't matter. It felt so… right. Never before had he felt so whole, so at peace.

When she finished, they stood there for a moment before they moved on, in silence. Part of his heart would remain in that hall, forever.

oOo

Brother Genitivi was soon too tired to continue, so they left him in one of the halls with some exceptionally interesting stone reliefs, with Sten as a bodyguard. The Qunari did not seem too happy about it, but he did not challenge his little Warden. Good. If that oaf tried to do anything, after all they had gone through that day, he'd give him the honour of being the first test subject for his new poison, made of darkspawn blood. Luckily, it seemed Sten realized it, as well.

The rest of the party continued their excursion through the halls at a comfortable pace. It felt so long since they had some fun, since they laughed together; first there was Sten's betrayal and then the horrors in Haven.

And when they opened the next door, he had to chuckle, knowing Airam's reaction even before it came.

"Aaaah… Alistair. You and the others go on. You're in charge. I'll stay here. You may lock me in, and pick me up when you return." The boy lovingly picked up one of the tomes scattered on the floor. Really, when he gently removed the dust from its cover he had a glint in his eyes, as if he was looking at his lover.

He did not share Airam's enthusiasm, but the boy was so adorable, so happy, he didn't have heart to interrupt him as he went through the huge library, randomly picking books, checking their covers, turning their pages, reading few bits here and there, sometimes even smelling them. Most of them he put down again, but some he put away, on a pile, that was getting bigger and bigger every moment.

"Don't you even think of it."

"What? I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't play dumb, Airam. You're not going to take those books with you."

"You don't understand. I have to!"

"No, you really don't."

"They're valuable!"

"That might be true, and were you as big as strong as our brave Qunari warrior, I would not protest. But as you are not, and as you have already almost crippled yourself during this journey because of books, I'm afraid I cannot allow it."

Airam looked so downhearted he would feel sorry for him; but then he reminded himself that there were five big, fat books in _his own_ backpack even right now, and the pity was gone without trace. But then the boy's eyes glittered mischievously again.

"Alistair! My dear brother! Surely you wouldn't refuse a favour to a fellow Grey Warden?"

Bemused, he watched the boy manipulating poor Alistair and Leliana into taking at least few of the books. After a lot of convincing, smiles and puppy eyes, the crazy kid actually talked them into taking three books each, and when he thought Zevran wasn't watching–as if that was ever going to happen–he stuffed two in his own backpack, as well.

But what amazed him most of all was that one of the books joined the other five in his backpack, after all. _Ah, Zevran. You haven't gone soft. You've gone completely mad_.

oOo

They searched the whole temple, but they didn't find anything that even remotely looked like an urn. Was it all for nothing? The very idea filled him with hot anger. When they discovered the long flight of steps, going somewhere down, he didn't think much of it. Holy relics were not usually kept in mouldy cellars. But he didn't say anything; he followed the boy's lead obediently.

Well, at least it wasn't a cellar.

It seemed that underneath the whole temple, there was a labyrinth of caves, connected with dark, narrow corridors, going deeper and deeper. Airam summoned a wisp, but even its light seemed somehow fogged and diminished down there. The air was hot and dry, and smelled of dung and dirt. And as if it wasn't enough, they were soon attacked by more lunatics. But these were much better equipped and trained than the villagers. These were warriors, and from their crazy shouts and rumblings it seemed they wanted to prevent them getting to wherever the corridors were leading. Which, of course, only made them want to get there even more.

The further they got the more frequent the attacks became. And they were already tired. It was only the unwillingness to sleep in this disgusting place that kept them going.

Then they heard the growl. Alistair stopped in his tracks. "Maker! Did you hear that? What do you think it was?"

"I'd prefer not to find out," Airam snapped anxiously. "Come, let's move on."

They went on, turned around the corner, and found themselves in a cave full of… but no, that couldn't be. He must be dreaming. And now would be the right moment to wake up. But he didn't. Which probably meant that he was awake. And that he really was in a cave with four big, vicious dragons.

Then one of the dragons noticed them. With a deafening roar it lunged on them, immediately followed by the other dragons. They turned to run back–only to find a large group of attackers blocking the way. They had fallen into the perfect trap.

Or at least that was what attackers thought. Perhaps it was because each of them realized how desperate the situation was; but when he looked at his companions, he knew they were not going to give up their lives so cheaply. They were not going to die in this smelly place.

Much later, they were standing over the dead bodies of dragons and attackers, exhausted, badly injured, but with eyes glistening with pride and revenge.

oOo

The second day in the caves was just as bad, if not even worse than the first one. Airam did what he could to heal them but they were still sore, and their pace was much slower. There were more dragons, but luckily most of them were much smaller, only dragonlings.

It was shortly after a cold and hasty lunch that Alistair pointed out the change. "Did you notice? This path is going up. I think we're near the surface again."

"You're right." Leliana took a deep breath And the air is much better, as well. Oh, thank the Maker. I would not like to spend another night in here."

"Should it happen, my dear woman, I would be glad to offer my… consolation, during the whole night."

"Thank you, Zevran, but I don't think I'll be _that_ desperate… ever."

A few hours, and a few more fights later, they walked into the biggest cave yet. It was full of light, fresh air, and at the far end, there was a flight of stairs going up.

But between them and the stairs was a group of dark, grim men, led by the darkest and grimmest one.

"Stop right there, intruders! Tell me, who are you and what do you want? Why are you killing our children?"

"Tell me who are you and perhaps I will answer you." Airam could look very haughty when he wanted, and right now he looked like an elven prince that appeared right out of an ancient legend. It worked; the man looked uncertain, and his tone was much more respectful, when he replied.

"I am Father Kolgrim, Andraste's First."

"That's a high title to claim."

"But it's true, nevertheless. We are Her true worshippers, Her guardians. We care for Her children, and She gives us our life, our strength, our will."

"Her _children_? What do you… wait. You mean _dragons_? Are 'her children' those dragons we saw?"

"Yes. We are serving them, to make them as majestic and powerful as their Mother, and once they are ready, we will reveal Her glory to the whole world, and help Her claim back what was taken from Her!"

"So Andraste is a dragon? And here I thought Andraste was a woman, who was burned alive ages ago." Airam widened his eyes in mock innocence.

"Do not doubt Her power, intruder! She has returned to us, Her most faithful. But enough of this. Tell me now, who you are and what do you want?"

"I am a Grey Warden. And I am looking for Andraste's ashes."

"Ashes, you say? Hmmm…. perhaps… it's not all bad that you have appeared here. Perhaps you could be of some use. Help us, and we will forgive you your offences until now."

"I do not remember any offence until now, unless protecting one's life is an offence. But I, too, am tired of killing. What do you want?"

"The ashes that you seek are not far from here. Those stairs will bring you upstairs to the surface. There is another temple there, called the Gauntlet. In there, the urn with the remnants of Our Lady's old body is held. Those ashes-the representation of her weak, human form-are the last thing that prevents Our Lady to rise in new glory."

"And you want me to do what? Toss them out of the window?" Airam's tone was light, and he was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes. If Kolgrim had any sense, he would recognize the danger. But it was useless to expect common sense from lunatic.

"No. We want you to spill the blood of Her new, risen form, over the Ashes. That way, the old will be once and for all defeated, and the new will be freed."

"So… let me see if I have this correctly. You want me to defile the most sacred relic in Thedas with dragon blood, so that you can unleash a horde of dragons on Ferelden?"

"All we want is to give her back the glory that the Chantry stole from her! We only wish to give Her back that was always Hers."

"Then why haven't you done it long ago?"

"We cannot! The Gauntlet is guarded. There is a spirit, a traitor, and a heretic! He will not let us pass and we cannot kill him! But you are not of our blood. He would not recognize you. Serve Our Lady, Grey Warden and She will look kindly upon you. Become Her chosen champion! Not only will you be forgiven for crimes against her children, you will be granted power reserved only for her most loyal."

"Oh? And what power that might be?"

"A power of Her blood."

"I'd have to drink the dragon blood?"

Alistair cleared his throat. "Don't forget what happened the last time you drank blood to gain power."

"Ah, don't worry. I'm not going to forget _that_ so easily. I'll remember it for _thirty years_."

Interesting. So the crazy kid drank some blood? Was it somehow connected to him becoming Warden? Was that why he defended the blood magic? What happened when he drank it? And why thirty years? Why not 'forever' or 'for long time', why exactly thirty years? He glanced at Leliana, but she didn't seem any wiser than he was.

"So will you do it?"

"If I refuse?"

"You will have to face the wrath of Our Lady. She would feel the blood of Her children on you, and She would revenge them. But if you agree to cooperate we will protect you, we will explain. She will listen to us, and will not harm you."

"Lovely. Tempting as it is, however, I have to refuse. I have had my share of drinking blood to last for a lifetime, thank you very much. And as for power, if I got any more I could burst, you know. And last but not least, I have no intention of defiling such a sacred relic. I might not be the most devoted believer, and I disagree with Chantry on many questions, but some things should remain sacred and unspoiled. So no, I will not do it. Now, could you please get out of my way?"

Unsurprisingly, Kolgrim did not like that answer. During Airam's little speech, he was getting redder and redder, and when the boy asked him to get out of the way, he roared with anger and attacked, only to collide with Alistair's shield. Kolgrim was just as tough as Eirik, but at least he wasn't a mage. There were two mages among his men, but he slit the throat of the first one and Leliana shot the other. After that, it wasn't very difficult, and none of them had serious injuries.

"We are ridiculously awesome," he declared proudly when all was done.

Airam arched the eyebrow at him. "You only realized that _now_?"

As they climbed up the stairs, they felt unstoppable; not even a horde of dragons would be a problem. The Archdemon himself wouldn't stand a chance.

Those feelings quickly disappeared when they saw 'the new Andraste', sitting in her nest at the top of the cliff. Those dragons they fought before really seemed like toddlers now.

"You know, I changed my mind. I don't want to fight that. Can't we just sneak around?"

"Yes…" agreed Airam, "I, too, am a bit tired… let's leave it for the next time."

"We don't have time for that, anyway. We must get back to Eamon," Alistair pointed out.

"And to fight it would mean we acknowledge their claim that this monster is Andraste," added Leliana.

They moved as silently as they could, and luckily, the dragon did not notice them. Only when the big door closed behind them, did they allowed themselves to breathe again.

He looked around. This temple was not as grand as the first one, but it had certain… atmosphere about it, that forced you to drop your voice and behave respectfully. Or perhaps it had something to do with the spirit blocking the door at the other end of the hall.

"Welcome in the Gauntlet, pilgrims. I have been waiting for you. I know what you seek. But only worthy are allowed to step in front of Andraste. Are you ready for having your hearts weighed and judged?"

Airam surveyed the spirit suspiciously. "You must be the guardian Kolgrim mentioned. So what do you want from us? I'm telling you in advance, I'm not interested in anything that involves drinking blood."

"No." The spirit actually _smirked_. "I am not like Kolgrim. He and his kin abandoned Andraste long ago. They serve the dragon now."

"They say the dragon is Andraste."

"It is not. Once, long ago, their ancestors were serving Andraste, tending the temple and pilgrims. There used to be many people coming to pay honor to the Lady back then. But mortals have short memory. Years passed, and less and less pilgrims came, until there were none at all. The guardians were restless; they started to have doubts. Then dragons came… Kolgrim's ancestor saw it as the sign from the Maker. That is how it started. Since then, nobody came to this temple. The children of the dragon would not allow it. Tell me, how did you get past them? Did you make a bargain with them?"

"No. I killed them."

"Oh. I see." The guardian studied Airam's face for some time, before continuing. "Are you willing to be tested, then? It is the only way to Andraste."

"In that case, it doesn't matter if I'm willing, right? Let's get this over with."

oOo

He expected more of those tests. So far, they were rather pathetic. First, the guardian asked them about their regrets. For him, of course, it was about _her_. Though he didn't let the blasted spirit say her name loud. "_Do you regret_," the spirit asked. If he was allowed to see so much, he should know that as well, no? But he replied, and truthfully, as well. Airam was quite disturbed enough, without him causing further problems. Though he did his best to seem calm and cool, the spirit's question had hit the nerve; that was obvious. The spirit asked if the boy still blamed himself for the death of his family, especially his little–what, he did not finish, because the boy interrupted him through gritted teeth, and the spirit did not insist.

Then there were more ghosts, asking them riddles. The boy snorted. "_Why is it always riddles? It was the same during my Harrowing. Don't spirits know any other puzzles_?" he asked the first ghost, but never received the answer. The riddles were all somehow connected to Andraste's life, and the boy and Leliana were able to answer most of them. He and Alistair guessed one riddle each, though.

After that, they had to fight themselves; their reflections, dark sides, or whatever those things were. So _predictable_. The biggest problem was with the boy's one, of course. But he was proud to see that his own one caused quite a lot of trouble, as well. So when they opened the next door, he was ready for pretty much anything. Except the one thing that he saw.

"Are you another demon? This becomes rather repetitive, and boring. Why don't you choose someone else, for a change? Why always her?"

"I am not a demon, Zevran. Though what I am, I cannot truly say. Perhaps I really am a spirit, brought from the Fade. Perhaps I am your memory… but that doesn't matter. The reason you see me, the reason why each demon tries to tempt you with me, is because I am your greatest weakness."

"If you want to tell me I should forgive myself and move forward, then don't. I don't need that kind of crap."

"I will not tell you that. I do not want you to forget what you did. I'm telling you to make your heart stronger."

"So… what? The Crows were right all along?"

"No, Zevran, on the contrary. Claim back what Crows stole from you. Reopen your heart. Do not let pain and guilt consume it. Accept the other things in your heart; do not belittle it. You _know_ what I'm talking about. You have been given the chance to be whole again. Do _not_ waste it."

"How can you say that? I don't deserve any chance. It was all my fault."

"Did I say you deserved it? We are often given things that we do not deserve, Zevran, but that is one more reason to try your best not to waste it. And it wasn't all your fault, either. Only someone with your ego would say that… it was also my fault, just as much as it was yours and Taliesin's."

"Your fault? For what? Being framed? Being betrayed? I should have stopped him. I should have trusted you. But I was an idiot… and such a coward…"

"I had the same training as you. I should have known better than to beg for my life. Were we not trained specifically for such situations, to remain cold and detached? I should have tried to explain myself, to give you logical arguments and proofs; instead, I mentioned love and trust. Although we were shown, all our life, and in a very explicit way, that there is no such thing. I was a fool and I paid the price. Please, at least don't take away my right to take my share of guilt."

"Rinna…"

"Ssssh. Go now. And remember; the Crows are wrong. To accept who you are and what you feel does not mean to be weak, but to be strong."

And with that, she was gone.

He blinked and looked around. It seemed they all had similar experience. Alistair was pale, looking as if he was going to faint any moment. Leliana was crouched on the other side of the room, crying. But Airam was the worst, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. He wanted to go to him, to hold him, to say something–but what would he say? What did he know about comforting crying children? It was easy to say, '_reopen your heart_', but what did it mean, exactly? How did one do it?

He watched as Leliana went to the boy and hugged him, and whispered something into his ear, until he calmed down in her arms. He suddenly felt very old, and corrupted.

oOo

Luckily, there were only two more "tests" left. They came to the big circle room, with a huge chasm and no way across it. But the boy figured it out, they had to step on some tiles at the brim of the chasm, to create the bridge. How exactly they did it, he would never know. He wasn't really paying attention, his body automatically following any commands they gave him; once again, the Crows training came in handy.

The last test was perhaps the most idiotic of all. They could see stairs leading to a platform with a statue of Andraste and the Urn below it, but the path was blocked with fire. In order to walk trough it, they had to 'give up all worldly possessions'; in other words, they had to undress. Normally he would have commented on it, but not now. He wasn't in the mood, and judging by the look at the boy's face, he wouldn't stand for it either. They had to turn away as he undressed and walked through the fire, and he obeyed, though Leliana teased him for it.

And then it was over, the guardian spirit congratulated them, and they went to the platform and took the ashes, and finally, _finally_ were on their way out of those disgusting mountains. Leliana and Alistair were elated, talking about miracles and the Maker's grace, and how the Maker was guarding them.

Until the moment they heard the deafening roar and swish of wings right above their heads.

The new Andraste had noticed them and had chosen them as her next meal.

oOo

It was a desperate battle. Their weapons were sliding off its scales without causing any harm. The only place where it would be possible to cause some damage was the belly, but that meant standing right below it and risk being stomped by its huge paws. Or to climb it and stab its eyes. But that was more easily said than done. He and Alistair tried, several times, but never managed to get close enough. If it wasn't for Airam's spells, they wouldn't have survived more than five minutes. For once, the boy was fighting as they agreed, staying out of the fray, casting freezing, paralysing and healing spells from distance.

Then the dragon realized where the spells were coming from. And he could only watch in horror as it flew up, landed right in front of the boy and grabbed him, almost biting him in half. He sprinted towards it, but there was no way he could get there in time. The boy was screaming, his blood trickling down the monster's teeth and mouth. When he finally got there, the dragon had thrown him away and turned its attention back to the rest of them. Airam flew for at least twenty meters before crashing down, a small bloody pile on the hard stone.

He saw Leliana immediately running to Airam, he heard himself cry in rage, and yet it felt surreal, as if he was just watching a nightmare. This nightmare version of him ran under the dragon, and plunged daggers right in between its thighs. It roared in pain, stopping its attack for few seconds. It was a chance they were looking for. In one quick movement, Alistair jumped the beast's back, and climbed up its neck, surely and without hesitation, as if it was his every day routine. The dragon tried to shake Alistair off, forgetting the danger below for a moment. He stabbed it in the belly, driving his daggers as deep as possible. The beast didn't know what to do first, where to move to escape pain; then Alistair ran his sword through its head.

The monster howled and crashed on the ground, its blood soaking everything around. He didn't care. Never giving it another look, he ran to the boy, now lying quietly in Leliana's arms.

"He lives."

Two words, and the world fell back into its place once again.

"I used a bit of the Ashes."

Leliana's voice sounded tired and apologetic, as if she expected that he would object. As if he cared about the Ashes, or some stupid Fereldan nobleman. All that mattered was his little Warden.

"But I don't know if it works… I thought he would be healed immediately, but… he… might still die, yet."

"He won't." He couldn't die. Not now, not after they defeated that monster. The Maker wouldn't allow it. _He defended your bride. He fought for her. You can't do that. We need him. Fereldan will be destroyed… the Archdemon will win. Is that what you want? You're the Maker, you're supposed to be kind and caring. Don't do this. Don't let him die. Please, don't take him away from me. I don't have anyone else. I need him. He's everything to me. And he's so innocent. Despite what he thinks, he is innocent, he's not even of age yet, he's just a child. If you want to take someone, take me. I know I never much cared about you… but I'll do anything, if you just let him live. _

How long were they sitting there, listening to his shallow and erratic breathing and watching his pale face for any signs of change? It felt like years, but it probably wasn't more than a few minutes before the miracle started. The bleeding stopped, the wounds started to close, and the breathing became more regular.

_Maker, thank you. And Andraste. I'll never say one word against you again. Thank you for sparing my boy._

The wounds were closed, but Airam had lost so much blood. He was still unconscious and drenched in cold sweat. So they quickly brought all their things there set a camp, and took turns watching over him, trying to keep him warm, rubbing remaining poultices on his wounds to prevent scaring, wiping away the sweat.

His turn or not, he did not move away from Airam, not when Alistair prepared the simple dinner–only some bread, cheese and dried meat, nobody was in the mood for cooking–and not when Leliana told him he should go get some sleep.

He was not going to waste his chance.

oOo


	6. Bloodied Hands

Thanks to Seika for beta reading this. You're ridiculously awesome, lady. :)

* * *

**Bloodied Hands**

Gently stroking Airam's hair, he thought again how lucky they were that the little Warden survived. What would they do if the little Warden died? What would _he_ do? Return to the Crows? That was not possible any more. And not just because of the punishment that would be awaiting him. He wasn't sure if he would be able to return to his old way of life. It was strange, to think of it as of the '_old way_', when it was just few weeks ago. How was it possible? Why and when did this crazy kid become so important to him? In the Crows, there was no such thing as friendship. There was no one you could trust beside yourself. People were selfish; it was their nature, to think only of themselves, of their own interests, to be pragmatic. Friendship, trust, love; they were less than illusions, invented only to manipulate and rule over fools with weak minds.

That was what he was taught, that was what had been beaten into him from the first day he started his training with other Crow children.

At first they all wanted to be friends, naïve and innocent as they were. But they soon learned that it wouldn't work, not if they wanted to survive. There was never enough of anything in the flophouse; if one wanted to have his belly full, to have shoes or a blanket, then he had to steal it, fight for it, hide it from others. Yes, in the beginning they had tried to share, to help each other, but it hadn't lasted long. It was difficult to be good at training when one was weak from hunger or fever. And the Crows did not tolerate weakness. After a few good beatings and whippings from their _allenatore_ for being too slow, or too clumsy, any altruism was quickly forgotten. To help others, to give up one's food for someone else, meant do diminish one's own chance of survival.

Kids that didn't learn those lessons quickly did not survive the first year. Bright kids learned more; to be nice and friendly when they needed something from the others, to manipulate them into something, but be wary and vigilant if _others_ were nice and friendly.

He was always one of the brightest.

_So Airam would have been_. Didn't he see himself how convincing the little Warden could be, when he wanted something? How innocent he could look, and smile, just to achieve his goal? How could he be sure the boy wasn't trying to manipulate _him_?

Yet, the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. There wasn't anything Airam could want from him. He didn't own anything that the boy might be interested in, and as for skills, sure, he was a great assassin, but the others were not so unskilled; his presence did not make such big difference. So why was the boy so friendly? Was it something related to the Crows? Unlikely, as he didn't even know the Crows existed before they met. Or perhaps he had some plans for the assassin, thought it might be useful in future?

No. It was hard to believe, that the boy who was accusing himself of being a monster for killing someone in self-defence, while justifying the murders of an assassin, would be able of such wickedness.

But, even if there _was_ a price. Would it be really that horrible if Airam asked him to do something; would it be that horrible to comply? Why? He remembered the boy's grin when he killed the demons in his nightmare in the Fade. _Are_ _you planning to sprawl there for the whole day? _And the look in his eyes, when he offered to take some books… such a trifle compared to all that Airam had done for him, and yet, he was so grateful. _Really, Zev, I'm glad I have you with me. _That's what the crazy kid said.

He looked at the pale face, and tenderly touched his brow, masking it by wiping away the sweat. _Whatever it is you want from me, I will do it. I'm your man, my little Warden. Without reservations. _

oOo

He was helping Alistair to skin the dragon–they decided it would be terrible waste to leave the dragon skin to rot–when they heard Airam groaning, as he was finally rousing up. Leaving everything behind, they both immediately got to his side. He was leaning on Leliana; now, why couldn't he have gotten up an hour earlier, when it was _his_ turn?

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was chomped on by a dragon? Wait, I _was_ chomped on by a dragon. Which makes that question pointless, doesn't it?"

"Oh, if you're able to make witty remarks, although they are rather lame, then you're fine."

"And hungry. Like, _Grey Warden hungry_." Airam looked pointedly at Alistair.

"Yes, well, you missed several meals during your beauty sleep. But don't worry; we'll fix that right away, we still have enough supply."

"Are you sure? I feel I could easily eat that dragon, you know."

"You're aware it might be several centuries old, yes? I'd say even Alistair's lamb stew would taste better than _that._"

"I heard that, _assassin_."

Airam finally managed to untangle from the blankets, and realized he was not wearing his robes. They had to remove it–or rather, what was left of it–when they were cleaning his wounds. They dressed him in one of Alistair's shirts, which was so big and wide it reached to his knees.

"Awww… those were my favourite… but what should I do now? I can't go through the mountains in a shirt..."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure Leliana has a spare dress she can borrow you. I bet you'll be irresistible," Alistair said with a wide grin.

"No, I'll gladly leave that to you. Haven't you told me once it was always your dream to put on a dress and dance Remigold in public?"

"What are you–that was not what I said!"

"Really? Oh, what a pity I don't have my lute here! But when we return to the castle, we can make a little performance, a celebration of our success, no?" Leliana's eyes were sparkling as she began to make plans for a big party.

Airam clapped. "What a brilliant idea! Don't you agree, Al? I'm sure everyone will love it! Especially our lovely Morrigan."

"Remind me next time, when a dragon chomps on you, to pass him some salt and tell him to enjoy his meal."

And so it continued; now that it was safe to say that the miracle had really happened, that Airam survived and was fine, they were so relieved they couldn't stop joking and laughing, and sharing funny stories. He had to wonder, if this was perhaps what people meant when they talked of friendship.

oOo

It took quite a bit of time to skin the dragon, as none of them had real experience with something like that, so the sun was almost down when they finished. They were eager to leave the mountains behind them as soon as possible, however, and decided not to wait till morning. It was not like it would matter in the caverns, anyway. They met no fanatics or dragonlings, thank the Maker, so even with the heavy and bulky dragon skin, they proceeded faster than before.

They reached Sten and Genitivi the next day, shortly after noon, and he was amused to see that the Brother did not even notice they were gone for almost one week, so busy he was with examining the whole temple. And the look at the man's face, when Airam showed him the Ashes–so full of awe, affection, happiness, and pride. Tears streaming from his eyes, he kept mumbling that he must get back to Denerim, to tell everyone and to prepare the next expedition, and if they hadn't stopped him, he would have run out of the Temple immediately, without any of his things or food.

Sten was much less impressed. "You decided to dress like a man. Good," was pretty much all he said to the little Warden.

They moved on almost immediately, wanting to get past Haven before sundown. As it turned out, they didn't have to worry. The village was empty, but not like before. Then, it was clear that there were people living there, although the streets were empty. But now it was dead, abandoned; the Chantry scorched and desecrated. Why it was empty and where everyone left to was anyone's guess, but Alistair decided that he would ask the Arl to send a unit of Templars there, to secure the village and the temple, anyway.

The next few days were probably the most pleasant since he joined the Wardens. They had to hurry, but that was their only concern. It seemed darkspawn had not reached the mountains yet, and the only mildly exciting thing was when they heard cries at Sulcher's Pass, but it turned out to be just a merchant searching for his mule. For a moment, he was afraid that the kid, crazy as he was, would offer to help find it, but instead, the merchant offered them a control rod for a golem. Airam accepted it more out of politeness than anything else, clearly doubting that such thing as a golem could even exist.

He started to train Airam again, and this time, Alistair and Leliana helped too. The boy whined and complained, especially when they pulled him out of the tent before sunrise, but it was more than clear that he actually enjoyed it.

And then they were out of the mountains; soon they could see Redcliffe castle, looming over the village. The nearer they came, the more anxious Airam was.

"Alistair, can I have a word with you, in private?"

"In private? What about?"

He softly chuckled at the annoyed look at the Airam's face. "I'll tell you, in my tent."

"Ah, but that is not necessary, Airam. I believe it is something related to Alistair being a royal bastard, yes? Then let me assure you, there is no reason for secrecy. Everybody knows already; well, except for Genitivi, and he's in his tent working on his research again. So please, do not worry and speak freely."

"What – _how_?"

Zevran flashed a wide smile at him. "We eavesdropped on you, of course. You didn't expect anything else from us, yes?"

"Oh, come on, Airam," Leliana joined in, "the Maker brought us all together to fight the darkspawn and stop the Blight. Don't we deserve some trust?"

"I – ah, all right, I give up. I just wanted to ask Alistair what he thinks will happen when we cure the Arl."

"He will help us reveal the Loghain treachery and take over the throne, of course."

"Will he, now? You know, I've been thinking about it a lot, since you told me, and I don't think that's likely to happen."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well–not that I know much about politics, only what I learned from history books, but–he doesn't have a direct claim to the throne, does he? Only by marriage. Plus, his wife is Orlesian. And if someone finds out his son is a mage and was possessed by a demon…"

"Why should that matter?" Alistair's jaw clenched.

"He is right, you know," Leliana said. "Even without that… incident, I don't think his claim is strong enough, compared to Loghain. And now… well, just think about it. If Loghain found out, he could even accuse the Arl's family of criminal offences for not reporting the mage child to the Circle and for helping the apostate. And what about Connor? Just think about it. Loghain could even ask for his… well, you know. It would be really better if the Arl did not draw the attention of the Teyrn to his family." Leliana looked at Alistair sympathetically, but her voice was firm and allowed no defiance.

Airam nodded. "Which leaves only one option."

"Please tell me you're not going to say what I think you are!"

"Well, it's either that, or Loghain's daughter remains the queen, with Loghain ruling over the Ferelden in her name."

"But, _seriously;_ you'd make _me_ the king? I'm not a leader, and you know that! I would probably ruin Ferelden in less than a week!"

"So you're going to back away and let Loghain have his way?"

"I–no, but– "

"Ah, my friend, but think of all the advantages! Riches! Comfort! Women! Or cheese, if you'd prefer that." Zevran laughed at the furious look Alistair gave him. If looks could kill, he would be now squirming in agony.

"Alistair." The boy sounded bit desperate. "You are the direct heir of throne, and therefore have stronger claim than anyone else. Even though you are illegitimate child, I'm sure the nobles will accept you, especially if you have the Arl's support. And I'm sure the Arl will not abandon you, even after you become the king."

_He would be a fool to do so, when he can be a puppet master with such perfectly willing puppet._ But he decided not to say that thought aloud.

Leliana gave Alistair encouraging smile. "And neither will we. I know quite a lot about politics… I could help, if you wished."

It would be a waste of perfect opportunity, to let that pass without the comment. "Is that so? Is that the new teaching of the Chantry? Or do bards learn that with songs and notes?" He knew she heard and understood the hint, but she decided to ignore him completely. Never mind; it would be better to discuss that in private, anyway.

"You worry too much, my friend. Trust the Maker. If you are meant to be the king, He will not abandon you."

"But there must be someone better for this–"

"Oh, I'm certain of _that_." Zevran chuckled. "And I'm sure quite a few of nobles would gladly take up your offer. The problem would be to decide which one of them should be the king. Not that I complain, such perfect business opportunity for an assassin, yes? The question is if it is really wise to start with the Antivan way of running the country during the Blight?"

Alistair bristled. "Don't you think I know that! I know it's reasonable, and everything, but… ny whole life, I was told I should not even dream of it, that I was to keep my head down, that I should be grateful I was allowed to live. I never even met the king, and I've never talked to Cailan, not unless you count one official greeting which he ignored, anyway… and now they're gone, someone suddenly comes with the crap that we were family? Well you know what? _We were not_!"

"I know, Al… I'm sorry," said Airam soothingly. "And I won't force you. If… if you're ok with Anora, so am I. But, just think about it, all right? You don't have to decide yet. It's not like we're going to crown you next week or anything, you know."

"Fine, I will think about it. Now, could you please get off my back, or do you need a ladder?"

"Ah, but it was such fun. Are you sure we can't go on, Airam?"

"Mind your tone, Zev. This is the Fereldan crown prince you're talking about."

That was finally the last drop for Alistair; he angrily stormed off to the other end of their little camp and started to ostentatiously polish his sword. He couldn't keep himself from offering his help with polishing the royal sword… which made the poor princeling turn the shade of the ripe tomato, before practically running to the safety of his tent.

oOo

It took a few days before the Arl was strong enough to get up from his bed. They had a peaceful time–no, it was boring. There wasn't much to do; the food was disgusting, the maids mediocre at the best. And Airam almost never had any time for him. Why that should irritate him so much, he had no idea, but it did. All the time, there would be someone requiring the boy's attention, or help, or talk… if it wasn't the First Enchanter, then it was Wynne or Jowan.

The only time they could spend together was during their training; they had moved them to late afternoons, no use to get up that early and only prolong the agony of empty days. But today, they had to give up even that, because the Arl decided he was strong enough for a talk with the Grey Wardens.

So he really wasn't in the best of moods when he went for a walk to the gardens. Those pathetic Fereldan nobles. They probably thought these gardens were so grandiose… any better-off merchant in Antiva could have easily outmatched them. But there was one spot he liked; not perhaps the most beautiful, but nice and quiet, protected from curious glances by a huge tree. He had spent a lot of time there, over the last few days.

This time, however, the spot was occupied. His frown made the other man wince and quickly get up.

"Ah–M-Master Arainai. I–I'm sorry, didn't want to–I'm leaving–" Jowan almost choked on his efforts to apologize, bow, and run away at the same time.

"No, please, by all means, stay. I didn't mean to scare you. There's plenty of room for both of us, yes? And please, call me Zevran. I decided not to be a Master, after all." Jowan looked confused, but he did not bother to elaborate.

"You–you don't mind sitting next to the maleficar?"

"Hmm… let me see. Do you want to boil my blood?"

The mage gave uncertain laugh, as if not sure if he meant it as a joke or not. "No? And what about turning me into your blood slave and have your way with me?"

"I'm not–that's–what the–!" Even Alistair would have been proud of the shade of the deep, crimson red on the mage's face.

"Aaaw, pity. I think I might actually like that. Oh well. Another time, I guess. But back to your question. No, I don't mind it at all. Why should I?"

After a moment of hesitation Jowan sat down next to him. "Most people do. But Grey Wardens are not most of the people, right?"

"What do you mean?" It was his turn to be confused.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it an offensive way! I just wanted to say, that you, Grey Wardens–"

His sudden laughter scared the poor mage so much he almost ran away. "You think I'm a Grey Warden? _Me?_ Wait–did _Airam_ tell you that?"

"No, but everyone speaks of you as a Grey Warden… so I thought… oh Maker, I'm sorry, if–if that offended you in any way, or something– "

"Ah, calm down. I was not offended, I was honoured." And, surprising as it was, it was true.

"But, if you're not a Grey Warden, how did you meet Airam?"

"Let me see. Alistair is also a Grey Warden, they fought together at Ostagar. Wynne was also there, or so I'm told. But she only joined us after we saved the Tower… you know what happened there?"

Jowan nodded. "Yes, Irving told the story of your brave rescue to everyone willing to listen. And to those unwilling as well. Much to Greagoir's annoyance." He chuckled.

"Morrigan joined in Korcari Wilds, she's a daughter of Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth. Leliana used to be a Chantry sister in Lothering, but she had some kind of vision that told her to join Airam and Alistair. But she stubbornly refuses to tell me, says I would be teasing her. As if I would _ever_ do something so horrendous… Sten was a prisoner with a death sentence for the murder of civilians, but Airam took pity on him, and decided to give him the chance to repent. But he's not very good at it, so far."

The mage looked quite bewildered, and there was a brief pause before he dared to ask. "And you?"

"Yes, well… I… I'm an assassin."

"An _assassin_?" Jowan looked doubtful. "You're joking again, right?"

"Alas, I am not. Ever heard of Antivan Crows? No? Seriously, what are they teaching you in that Tower? Anyway. I… _used to be_ an Antivan Crow, until our lovely friend decided to spare me and gave me the chance to quit."

"What do you mean, he spared you?"

He didn't answer it immediately, studying the mage's face carefully. it older than Airam… but that didn't mean much. _He _wasn't that much older than Airam either, only seven years, and yet he sometimes felt as if there was a whole lifetime between them. But this one wanted to get out of the Tower so much he had actually done something about it. Learning blood magic, that could not have been the easiest decision. Especially not in a tower full of Templars. And more than that, this mage actually used it to achieve what he wanted. Not that he liked blood magic; despite what his little Warden said, he still had his reservations about it, but he had to admire determination of this mage to _do_ something about his life, not just passively wait till death comes. And once again, when Loghain gave him the chance to save the woman he loved, the mage did not hesitate to do anything it would take.

"I was hired to assassinate him. I failed. Never had any chance, in fact."

"You! You–wanted to kill Air? And you tell it to me just like that? Maker! Perhaps I _should_ boil your blood!" Jowan jumped on his feet again, looming over him like an overgrown bat.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. Perhaps telling him wasn't such a great idea after all. "Yes, you probably should. An assassin doesn't deserve any mercy. But as you can see, Airam decided to let me live and even allowed me to join him. So I think he wouldn't appreciate it. However, if you wish, you still can turn me into a blood slave and have your way with me. Please, feel free."

There was a moment of silence, and then he heard Jowan sit down again. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm the last person who should judge other people for _assassination attempts,_ as I'm an assassin, too."

"No offense my friend, but you are not. Far from it. If you succeeded, you would be a murderer, but not an assassin."

"And that's supposed to comfort me?" Jowan frowned. "Why would anyone want to assassinate Airam?"

Was this mage really that stupid or was he only pretending it? "Not him specifically. I was hired to assassinate surviving Grey Wardens. By the same person who hired you."

"Teyrn Loghain? That bastard! I wish someone would assassinate _him_!"

He laughed. "You know, Airam actually asked _me_ to do it. It's not possible, at this moment, but that man has it coming, never doubt that... so, you two were very close?"

"With Airam? He is the only friend I ever had… we were like brothers… before I ruined it all. During the last two years, we were not so close any more."

"But I thought he helped you to escape? Greagoir said so… and he was rather pissed off because of it."

"I don't doubt that. Stupid old fart. If the Bann didn't respect Airam so much and agree to wait for the Arl's decision, I'd be Tranquiled the moment you left for the Ashes. He can't wait till the Arl Eamon is strong enough to hold court. " His voice was bitter, full of regret. "I just hope Airam will convince them to execute me, instead. I don't care if I die, but I don't want to be turned into a mindless puppet."

"Don't be ridiculous. You say you were close as brothers, and you still believe Airam would let them execute you?"

"I know he wants to save me. But even though he's a Grey Warden now, and a hero of Redcliffe, I doubt there's anything he can do for me. I'm a convicted maleficar and a murderer, I have blood on my hands. There's no mercy for me."

"And I'm a convicted assassin, who foolishly tried to finish off the Grey Wardens. And the cra- eh… Airam still saved me, yes? He is not going to let his best friend die, of that I'm sure. He's going to find some way."

"Perhaps it would be better, if I were dead. I'm a complete failure, going from bad to worse... and without Lily… it doesn't have any sense, anyway… I can't save her, no matter how much I'd like."

Tch. So he did give up already, after all. How disappointing… _Aren't we a merry lot? Seems we all just love weeping in sackcloth and ashes_. "Well, we'll have to wait and see, yes? But in the meantime, let's talk about more pleasant subjects. Could you tell me something about life in the Tower? Anything that will cross your mind. Magic was always fascinating for me."

Of course, most of all he wanted to hear about his little Warden, but from his experience he knew he would learn more if the other person was not fully aware and focused only on the subject–that way a lot of interesting details were usually intentionally skipped. Better let the mage to talk about whatever he wanted; it would be easier to put piece together the whole picture.

"If you spent your whole life in a prison, would you want to talk about it? Most mages are taken from their parents as soon as they're discovered with magic. Some parents try to hide and protect their children; some, like mine, welcome the Templars, happy to get rid of "a demon". I was five when I was brought there, and I hated it from the very first moment.'

"It's that bad?"

"Worse. It's… well, imagine it–you're never alone. Well, except when you're on the latrine. But otherwise, you are constantly followed, constantly watched. Even when you sleep–somebody's always there, watching. And everything is decided for you. What you eat. And when. And where. What you wear. Every activity is set, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Don't you get used to it, after some time?"

"Can a mouse get used to being followed by a cat? Most mages I know hate it. Airam hated it, too. We couldn't wait till we'd get out of the Tower."

"I see." Well, that at least explained why the boy was never relaxed when he knew someone was watching him. "But I thought mages could never leave the Tower, ever."

"No. After Harrowing, a mage can leave if official Circle matter requires it, and under the supervision of a Templar. But usually one must be at least on the level of Enchanter, before he is allowed it. And that takes quite some time. That's why most mages specialize in the most obscure areas, to be sure to come up with some research that hasn't been done yet. And sometimes, if the research is something important for the Circle, they can ask for a mage just past his Harrowing as their personal assistant… but even outside of the Circle, they are always under the First Enchanter's command, and should he decide so, they'd have to return back."

So that's why there were so few mages in the Tower. Well, it was good to know that there will be more than half a dozen mages supporting them when they face the Archdemon. "So what kind of research would you do, if things were different?"

"Well, I doubt anyone would ask for me… I never had any special talent… except for creating troubles, it seems. So I'd be in the Tower for many long years… or probably forever."

"And Airam?"

"Him? Oh, I'm sure half of the mages out there asked for him. He was the star pupil, Irving's personal apprentice… one of the Elite group, as we called them … and if you're wondering if I'm jealous, no, I'm not–not any more, at least. Though I used to be. Quite a lot. And I… almost lost him because of that."

_Elite group? Star pupil? Yes, well, no surprises there. _He wouldn't expect any less from his little Warden. "What is this Elite group?"

"It's the group of ten best apprentices, the top in everything they do. Air was… he was one of them almost from the beginning. He is, always was, very clever, and has very good memory, so it's easy for him to learn. But, he's also very eager to learn, he loves reading and learning and used to spend all his free time buried under a piles of books."

"Some things don't change," he chuckled. "He still spends his free time buried under a piles of books. But I suspect that didn't make him very popular with other apprentices, yes?"

"Quite right. Now, if you're finished discussing my tragic childhood like a pair of old gossipers at the market, I need Jon to come with me to the Arl."

He had to laugh, when Jowan jumped up again at the sound of Airam's voice-he was wondering how long the crazy kid wanted to stand there, eavesdropping. "I–I'm sorry, Air, I didn't mean to gossip, we were just talking about the Tower…"

"For Maker's sake Jon, stop jumping like that; I'm not going to turn you into a frog or anything. Come on, the Arl is waiting; it took me a lot of time to find you. But. Out with it. What _else_ were you two doing, hiding here? Knowing Zevran, I guess I'm lucky you're still dressed…"

As he watched them, Airam's merciless tormenting of his friend, and Jowan's feeble protests, he thought that Greagoir and the Arl should really think twice before trying to go against the boy.

oOo

Two hours later, the boy banged into his room, with a shaken Jowan in tow. "Zev. Care for a little walk, to the village?"

"Of course, but why so suddenly?"

"Weeell… I want to get lost before Greagoir finds out about the agreement we made with Arl Eamon. And Jon's going with us, if you don't mind."

"Don't worry; I'll lead you out of castle so that nobody will even notice you left, yes?"

And so he did, though those two were far noisier than group of drunkards on their way home from the inn. "So? What happened?" he asked, when they were safely on the road to the village.

"You were right. He really did find the way to save me."

"What, you had doubts?" Airam shot a surprised look at his friend. "You thought I'll turn you over to _Greagoir_? You can't be serious, Jon. Feeding you to the Archdemon in small pieces would be more merciful than handing you to him."

"Thank you very much… I guess. But I'd prefer to leave the Archdemon hungry and me staying in one piece."

"Please, go on, I'm really curious how you managed this," said Zevran.

"Well, Eamon wanted to execute him, and so did Isolde and Alistair... I'll have to have a word with him, later. But Teagan really surprised me; he said he would support my decision, whatever it would be. And, well, my decision was that we need any help with the Blight we can get."

"You recruited him as a Grey Warden?"

"No, I didn't have to in the end, though I would have done it, if Eamon and Alistair insisted. No, I made it official Circle business. Jowan will be… an external support, sort of. He'll go to Denerim and try to convince the other mages to help us."

"But I thought we already have the mages' support."

"Officially, yes. But it'd be much better if they'd do it willingly, don't you think?"

"And why would they–nothing personal, Jowan, but still–why would they want to listen to a maleficar?"

"He'll be under supervision. There will be one Templar following him everywhere."

"A Templar? And you think that will help?" He didn't want spoil the fun, but he didn't see how the presence of the Templar would be helpful in convincing the mages.

"But you see, this Templar will be Carrol."

"Carrol–you mean our dear _Queen of Antiva_?" He narrowed his eyes. "Wait. You were planning this all along, weren't you? That's why you requested that fool from the Tower."

Airam was obviously very pleased with himself. "Yes, and it was actually Greagoir who gave me the idea. You must admit he's a great choice. A perfect combination of devoted service to the Maker and sensible will to survive. I don't think the other mages will see him as a threat, either. And Jowan will have official letters, one from Irving, and one from the Grey Wardens, explaining their status and mission."

The more he thought about it, the more he had to agree. It was perfect plan. "If I knew that trying to save your friend would turn you into such great tactician, I'd bring Jowan with us to every single battle."

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Come on, we better hurry up. I would like to back at the castle before nightfall. I do _not_ want to sleep in that disgusting inn."

"Then why are we going there, in the first place? We could just hide somewhere in the castle."

"Well… because… let's say I'm a man that keeps his promises."

"A man?" He laughed, and even Jowan made soft chuckle, but quickly stopped at the furious glance from Airam, though his lips were still twitching. "You mean the promise you gave to _Bella_?"

The slight flush on the boy's face was answer enough. Walking down the path, he wasn't sure if he should be impressed, amused, or annoyed. Perhaps he should start working on that bet more seriously.


	7. Child's Play

Thanks to awesome lady Seika for changing my mess into English. :D

* * *

**Child****'s Play**

When they returned to the castle after their visit to Bella–who was absolutely not expecting that they would really keep the promise and was terribly embarrassed–Alistair was waiting them at the gates with his arms crossed, and started yelling at Airam and Jowan. But while Jowan looked utterly terrified and just stood there trembling, Airam yelled right back. So he let the two Wardens solve their dispute by themselves and took Jowan into his room. He took the shot glasses and poured them both some brandy.

It was obviously the first time the young mage had anything stronger than ale, and was coughing and spluttering, but bravely drank it all. Perhaps he should have told him to drink it all at once. These mages, they really didn't know anything about real life.

"Thanks," he said, when his voice finally returned to him. "I caused trouble for him again, didn't I? I'm sorry for that."

"You know, you should really try to whine less. It's so not sexy."

"That's… Maker's breath, do you ever talk of anything else?"

"No, he doesn't. The question is, if our friend here is really so skilled, or if he keeps talking about it because he never gets any real action."

They turned to the door. Leliana was leaning against the door with an amused sneer on her face.

"My dear woman, if you have any questions regarding my experience in this matter, we can answer them together later, when we are alone, if you wish."

"I believe there is another way to answer that, related to a certain bet we made. It doesn't seem to me that you made any progress yet, unless I missed something. Anyway, right now, I'm here for Jowan. The First Enchanter and the Knight Commander would like to have a talk with you before you go to sleep. They are leaving for the Tower before the dawn, so there won't be chance to talk tomorrow."

The mage jumped up nervously and quickly put down the glass. "Oh great. They are going to skin me alive. I better not keep them waiting. Thank you for the drink, Zevran." And with that, he quickly bolted out of the room.

Leliana watched him, as he run down the hall. "Bit jumpy, isn't he? One would think I told him to go kill the high dragon."

Rolling his eyes, he poured some more brandy and leaned more comfortably in his chair. He was expecting this visit for quite some time–ever since that talk about Alistair's future rule on their way back from the mountains. So there was no point in avoiding it any longer.

"Yes. But I believe you came to discuss more important things than our Warden's nervous friend, right? Now then. Why don't you go on and tell me what you really want?"

"Straight to the point? As you wish. I need to know Zevran, how did you found out about me and what do you plan to do with that knowledge?" she asked in a cold and businesslike voice, and he laughed at the sudden change.

"My dear, you clearly underestimate me. Anyone who did not live isolated in a tower, the Chantry, a swamp, or among warriors who don't care about anything outside of their world, would recognize you for what you really are immediately. A gorgeous young woman, a minstrel, with extraordinary skills with weapons, with rather liberal views on some matters, with strong Orlesian accent–what else could you be, than a bard? And as for what I want to do with it, I don't know. I could inform our Warden, as he doesn't seem to be aware of it yet. Or, I could keep quiet. What would you suggest, hm?"

"What do you want from me, Zevran? I'm warning you–if you think you can blackmail me and force me to… do something _indecent_ -"

"Tsk, tsk, such suspicions! Now you really hurt my pride. I know we assassins are not considered to be the most honest people in Thedas, but even we have some standards, you know. No, my dear, what I will do depends entirely on what you do. What are your intentions? Why did you join the Wardens?"

"You may mock me as much as you want, Zevran, but what I told the Wardens was true. I left my past as a bard behind me. When I came to live in the Chantry two years ago I had no idea any of this would happen. All I wanted was to stay there and serve the Maker."

She sounded sincere, but she was a bard, after all. It would be foolish to trust her. "And then you had a vision that told you to help the Wardens in stopping the Blight. You will forgive me for not believing you this."

"Believe what you want. At least _I _did not try to assassinate them. You are much bigger threat than I am."

"I might be, if I didn't want to get out of the Crows. And I need the Wardens alive for that," he snapped, irritated. He did not like to think about it. The idea that his little Warden could have died by his hands, always made him feel sick. "If your intentions are so innocent, why haven't you told the truth to the Wardens? They tolerate an assassin that tried to kill them, I'm sure they'd tolerate an ex-bard."

"I couldn't know that when I joined them, and later I didn't know how. But I _will_ tell them… eventually. I'd like to do it on my own terms, however, at right time. Until then, could you keep quiet about it?"

"Very well. But know that I'll be watching you." _And if I see anything suspicious I won't bother telling Airam; I'll kill you myself_. That part remained unspoken, but Leliana was a bright girl. She would understand, of that he was sure.

"As you wish. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go to have some rest."

It seemed to him that the door had barely closed, when someone knocked on it again. She probably remembered something else she wanted to say. "Come on in, Leliana."

"Oh-ho. You're expecting Leliana, are you? I'll get lost then, I don't want to interrupt." Airam was smirking provocatively. "I was only looking for Jon. He really has the knack of vanishing without a trace."

"Alas, while I would like that, I'm afraid that's not going to happen tonight. Probably. I'm an eternal optimist, as you know. And I believe Jowan is still with the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander."

By the look at the boy's face one would think he told him Jowan went and jumped into the cesspit. "Oh. Somehow, I don't wall to talk to him so urgently, any more. What's that you're drinking?"

"Plum brandy. Would you like to try?" He took a clean glass and poured some into it. "Actually, it's one of your Ferelden specialities, or so I'm told."

"Really? I've never heard of it. But then, I'm just a stupid, irresponsible, immature, selfish brat, so why should I?" The change in Airam's tone was so sudden and complete that he stopped in his track and looked at him, surprised.

"That's not what I said or how I meant it."

"Well that makes you the only one who didn't, today. All the others have decided that I needed a lecture on how a leader should behave. You sure you don't want to join their club?"

"Me? No thanks. I happen to be more of an individualist. Here. Drink this. It might not help with the club, but it will make you think of different things. Bottom up."

"What?"

"Let me show you." He probably shouldn't, that would be his fourth glass this evening and this stuff was really strong, but to hell with that. So he poured another glass, and quickly drank it in one gulp. The boy sniffed suspiciously at the liquid, and then did the same.

This time, it wasn't possible to not laugh, as Airam started coughing and gasping, tears streaming down his cheeks despite the furious glances the boy shot at him. "You…! Murderer… What the hell was that? I don't believe people voluntarily drink that stuff."

"I'm sorry. No, really, I am," he apologized, immediately belying his words with another fit of laughter. "Jowan's reaction was not so bad. But, it did work, no? It made you think of quite different things than how everyone hates you."

"It did not make me think. It made my brain stop completely," he snapped, collapsing in the nearest armchair. "But I guess that also helped."

"So. Have you already decided what should we do next? I believe there are few types of monsters we haven't encountered yet. Such as werewolves, or giants. It would be welcomed change to darkspawn and demons, no?"

"And what about golems? Though I hope there will be no fight, this time."

"You mean you want to go to check the golem mentioned by that merchant in the mountains?" He chuckled. Only yesterday he heard the boy discuss their route with Alistair, and they agreed to continue with treaties. But that was before they had the row over Jowan, of course.

"Well, I've checked it in the library, and if the rod works it could be useful. Golems are supposed to be incredibly strong, and very good fighters. It wouldn't be a bad thing, to have one at our side."

"I see. But what about the treaties? What if the Archdemon suddenly shows up while we are not ready?"

That was what Airam said himself yesterday, and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he recognized them. "I know," he replied coldly. "But we are not far from Honneleath now; it won't delay us more than a day or two. If we leave, however, we won't be coming back just because of this. We will leaving tomorrow after lunch, and we should be there before the nightfall. Which means we should both go to sleep. There's still much to do tomorrow before we leave."

The boy got up to leave, but then stopped, hesitating. "Zev, may I… ask you for something?"

Now, this should be interesting. "Ask away."

"I… well, I just–remember how last time you let me borrow your boots–"

Was it his imagination, or was the boy really blushing? "Yes, that's not easy to forget. Do you want help with packing? I'll be glad to help."

"Ah–that–would be great, thanks, I'd appreciate it. But, that's not… what I wanted." The boy was looking entirely embarrassed now. "I… actually, wanted to ask you, if… if I could keep them."

That took him by surprise. What the hell he would need the old pair of boots for? They were all given the new equipment, the best the Arl could provide, as a thank you for both defending the village and saving his sorry ass. So it was not that he needed them.

"Of course, if you want. But what– "

"Thanks, Zev. Good night." The boy flashed his sweetest grin and bolted out of the room. Most suspicious. There must be some serious reason for this… but he just couldn't figure it out. Sighing, he decided that solving this mystery would have to wait until morning.

oOo

But in the morning there were too many things that needed to be done to care about the kid's craziness. The others didn't like the change in their plan, but Airam deflected all comments with innocent smile and the tale of how useful a golem would be, if the rod worked. It didn't fool anyone, especially with Alistair storming around with sullen face. But as there were only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and one of them repeatedly refused to be in charge, they didn't have a real choice.

Just like big spoilt brats. Annoyed, he wished he could bend them over his knee and spank them… or at least their little leader. Oh, he would enjoy that. The images that popped in his mind at the idea made him grin slyly which irritated Alistair even more. He probably suspected Zevran had something to do with Airam's change of mind.

They left around noon. Honneleath wasn't far away, but without the usual merry banter, it seemed to last forever. They reached the first houses just as the sun was set down, and he felt a spark of hope. Even if the stupid rod didn't work, at least they would have proper dinner and beds for one more night. And that was worth a little detour, no?

But then heard the screams and a few villagers came running. Followed by darkspawn.

_Brasca. Not this again._

oOo

The village was swarming with darkspawn, but against six of them–especially after they were suppressing their fury for a whole day–they didn't stand much of a chance. Oh well, at least Airam could now say that their arrival saved the villagers. For Wynne and Leliana, that would be enough to forgive him. Morrigan and Alistair would need some more convincing. For Sten, disagreeing with anything besides hunting the Archdemon was a matter of honour and principle, of course. Just as he expected, the fight was over before the fun really begun. They cut through them like a knife through butter.

But his little Warden did not look happy and proud at all. "Dear Maker," he whispered, as he looked at the massacred bodies of villagers, laying on the roads or hanging from the gallows. "Why are we always late? If only we left earlier in the morning, perhaps we would come in time to save them…"

"This is not your fault, Airam. Do not blame yourself. You could not know the village was under attack," said Leliana, hugging him.

"And there still might be some survivors. We should try to find and help them," Alistair pointed out meekly.

He didn't say anything. Airam's words touched something in him, and it hurt more than any injury from darkspawn. His common sense tried to convince him that it was a stupid and naïve thing to say, proving how very green and crazy the kid was, and that he, too, would become more realistic and pragmatic. But this–_something_–kept throbbing painfully, making him wish he could be like that once again… making him realize what he had become. And a memory came back, of a small boy, crouching on his bed, after another one of many beatings, swearing he would not be like his masters… _I had no choice. I had to change. I would be dead, if I didn't. _Yes, that's what he had told himself for many long years.

But now, looking at this crazy kid, broken over the deaths of a few pathetic villagers, it suddenly sounded hollow.

oOo

They searched several houses, but found only more corpses. But then they entered another house, bigger and nicer than any other so far. In the cellar they finally found survivors, behind some magical barrier. There were a few darskpawn trying to break through it, but it threw them back as if they were mere rag dolls.

The moment they dealt with the darkspawn, the barrier disappeared. Wynne immediately hurried to check if anyone needed healing, but it seemed everyone was all right, except one blond guy, who was apparently a mage that was keeping the barrier up. He was exhausted and completely drained of magic energy.

"Oh thank the Maker! I could not hold it for much longer. You came just in time. Thank you," he gasped, after drinking a few potions that the boy gave him. "But Amalia is still in there! Please, I know you did so much already, but save my little girl, I'm begging you!"

"Your daughter? Where is she?"

"In the cellar! She ran away when the darkspawn came," the man sounded desperate, and he grasped Airam's hands and squeezed them.

"All right, don't worry, of course we will save her," Airam tried to calm him and pull out of his grasp. "But what's so dangerous about that cellar that she needs to be saved?"

"My father… he was a mage. That part of the cellar was used for his experiments and he put some powerful defences against intruders…"

It was obvious that Airam was annoyed and wanted to say something at this, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned to them. "We will go, but I think two or three should be enough. The rest can help with healing and cleaning."

He was amused to see that nobody disagreed. Yes, they might have different opinions on a lot of things, but at moments like this, they all followed everything their little leader suggested without any complaints.

And so Wynne, Sten, Leliana and Alistair stayed to help, while he and Morrigan went with the boy, together with Rask.

"You didn't seem too happy when that guy told us about the laboratory," he asked as they walked down the narrow corridor to the laboratory, and was amused to see the boy start fuming again.

"Well, what kind of an idiot makes defences that harm his own family? He could have used the barrier, like his son, or something, to prevent anyone entering the lab. Even if she wasn't scared, what child would resist going to grandpa's lab, just to see why is it forbidden to go there? That's…. I can't stand it, I hate people who would hurt a little child, no matter how justified they think their excuse is."

"But 'tis the quickest way for the brats to learn their lesson. They would get hurt and think twice before going there again. Mother would do the same."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry to say that Flemeth does not pass as the model mother, Morrigan."

"Perhaps not. But her methods made me strong," she snapped, sounding slightly offended.

Not wanting to let this turn into another argument, he quickly stepped in. "Yes, I've noticed you care about the children quite a lot. Little Connor is your great fan, you know that? I've heard him saying that he'd like to be just like you."

Airam laughed, lifting his eyes piously to the heaven. "Oh, dear Maker, save the poor child and don't let that happen."

"Why? That little girl in the Tower, Stella– "

"She's not "that little girl" for you, Zev. Don't forget you're betrothed."

"The assassin is betrothed? You didn't tell me that!" Morrigan stopped and glared accusingly on the boy.

"I didn't? How could I forget? Yes, Zev made quite an impression on one of my friends…"

"What can I say? I _am_ perfect, after all. Handsome, charming, sexy, and deadly with blades, no? Of course, a lady as fine and clever as little Stella had to recognize and appreciate it immediately. But what I meant to say was that you seemed to be good friends, no? Now that I think of it, should I be jealous?"

"Warden's girlfriend left him for _you_? She must have been blind, deaf and stupid."

"_Girlfriend_? Hardly. She's five." It was nice to hear the crazy kid laughing heartily again.

"Yes, we were friends. I was helping with the youngest, during my last year; I helped them to practice some basic spells, things like that. I know teachers should not have any favourites, but… it was like I had a little sister again."

_Again_? _Does it mean he had a sister and lost her? The spirit in the Andraste's Temple, didn't he say something like that? _He never gave much thought on what the spirit had said, first there was too much going on, and then he forgot.

But now was not the time to muse over it either, as they finally reached the laboratory. It didn't look like a laboratory… not that he had ever seen one, of course, but he thought it would look different. It was a rather small, plain room, with shelves filled with dusty flasks lining the walls, a writing desk with a few old, yellowed journals, and a door at the further end, slightly ajar.

Airam barely glanced at the flasks, flipped the journals, stuffed them into his pack–_probably also very valuable_, Zevran chuckled bbelow his breath–and then looked at the door. "Well, I guess that's the room where the mage who lived here did his experiments. So be careful where you step or what you touch. I just hope that the girl is still alive."

But there wasn't much to worry about. The room was empty and bare, except for few strange tiles in the middle.

And a little girl, talking to the cat as if it understood and replied.

The moment Rask saw the cat, he growled dangerously and looked up at the boy. "Yes, I know. Stay quiet, boy," he heard Airam whisper softly. "Hello, Amalia," he said aloud.

"Hello. Who are you? I don't know you. Did you come to play with Kitty, too?"

"I am Airam, this is Morrigan and this is Zevran. We are your daddy's friends. What are you playing?"

"Riddles. We were playing with the puzzle, but I can't solve it so we play riddles now. Kitty is very good at it."

"I bet she is. She looks like a very clever cat," Airam said with slight frown. "I'm sure your daddy would like her, too. He's so sad now, because he's all alone there. I'm sure he'd love to play with you and Kitty."

"No! I'm not going back! Kitty cannot go, she's trapped in this room and I won't leave without her!"

"She cannot leave the room? That's terrible! But I'm sure your daddy will know how to get her out. We should go tell him about it–"

The cat's eyes glowed dangerously–and then it spoke. Oh. So it was another demon. He should have guessed. It was irritating, that the _dog_ was apparently able to recognize it, while he was not.

"Nice try, but it's useless. She won't leave without me. Amalia loves only me now. She would die to protect me."

"And I won't leave without the girl. Any suggestions how we could solve this conflict of interests?"

"Free me and let me go."

"Just like that?"

"I will take the girl, but she won't suffer. We will be partners, I will see the world through her eyes and she will have my power. And you would not regret it. I'll make you a rich and powerful man."

He shot the quick glance at the boy and saw that his eyes darkened dangerously. _Why is hesitating at all? Let's kill the stupid demon and be over with this._

"All right. I will set you free. What am I supposed to do?"

What? He must have heard wrong. He could not really say that, not his little Warden, not after all that 'I can't stand someone hurting children'.

"You are not truly considering that, are you?"

"And why not," laughed Morrigan, "I say he finally got some sense."

Airam ignored both of them, eyes still locked with the cat.

"The tiles. It's some kind of a puzzle. Solve it, and the magic that holds me here in the cat form will be broken. The girl wasn't able to do it." There was a hint of impatience in the cat's voice.

He watched Airam, pacing around the tiles, murmuring below his breath. He still couldn't believe that this is happening, that his boy, always so willing to help everyone, really agreed to hand a child to the demon. _Please don't do this_, he was repeating in his mind, but he did not say it aloud. _Why do I even care? I'm an assassin. And even though he was friendly with me, this boy is my master. The man I serve. Why should I care if he chooses to sacrifice a child for profit?_

Airam shuffled the tiles, and a fire lit up, flames tracking the route he created with tiles, until reaching the last one, and a column of fire erupted from it. It seemed the air around them erupted as well, as if an invisible wall was blown up. The cat yelled triumphantly. So this is it. The demon is free.

"Yes, yes! Finally! After all this years, I'm free! Amalia, dear, come here. Let me in, let us become one – " the cat's eyes glowed enthusiastically, as it moved toward the girl.

"No! I don't want you inside me! Kitty, stop it! You're scaring me!"

He couldn't watch it. Closing his eyes, he started to pray to the Maker to do something to save the child, when he heard the Warden speaking again.

"Stop right there, demon. You will not touch her."

What? Opening his eyes again, he saw the boy standing now between the demon and the girl. The cat bristled, fretting and fuming.

"You dare to betray me, human? You dare to lie to me?"

"I never lied. I said I would set you free. Not that I would let you live," Airam explained calmly. He turned to the girl then. "Go to Zevran, Amalia. And cover your eyes." Their eyes met for a second, and he immediately felt ashamed for his doubts. Didn't he prove many times by now that he wasn't the type that makes deals with demons? But, he thought, it was the crazy kid's own fault. He was damned convincing. And he still didn't understand why the trick was necessary.

The demon did not appreciate the trick, either. Finally turning into its real ugly shape, it lunged at the boy, summoning a few lesser demons, as well. Poor thing. How could it know they slaughtered an entire tower full of its kin? The fight was short and _very_ satisfying.

The moment it died, the girl collapsed on the floor. Airam was immediately at her side, looking very worried while he examined her. Finally he sighed with relief. "She'll be fine. Let's take her to her father."

"Allow me," he said quickly and lifted the girl. Airam just nodded. "You know, you almost got me there. Care to explain why it was necessary to pretend to have a deal with it? Couldn't we just strike it down right away?"

"Indeed. I hoped you finally got some sense, but I see you are still a naïve child, Warden."

"Morrigan, don't. I know you don't mean it, anyway. I had to make the deal with that demon, it was the only way how to free her without hurting her. She was totally under the demon's control. You heard the cat–the girl would die to protect her. If we attacked right away, Zev, she would see us as enemies, and would try to protect her 'friend' and would inevitably get hurt during the fight."

"And how did making the deal changed that?"

"We acted as friends; we kept the word we gave to her Kitty, to set her free, and it was Kitty who turned hostile and wanted to force herself in. It helped her realize what was going on, and find the will to resist the demon. She's incredibly strong, this one. You surely realize that too, Morri, don't you? And _you_ would let demons take someone like her? Like I'd ever believe _that_."

Morrigan just grumbled something incomprehensible, but he caught a glimpse of a slight grin on her lips before she turned away.

"Why? What is so special about her?"

"Surely you noticed, when we come, that she was talking with the cat?"

"Yes. And? You talked to it as well."

"And it talked back, right? But did you hear it reply when it was talking with the girl?"

"No–oh. So she–is what, exactly?"

"If she was trained, she'd be what is called a mind-reader. It is a rather rare form of magic. Not unheard of, but really rare. The last known mind-reader died before I was even born. And judging by how quickly she was able to realize what the demon wanted to do and resist it, she has a strong will, as well. If a demon possessed her, with all that potential, in few years she could be a threat to the whole of Ferelden."

He listen, amazed, and humbled, realizing just how much his favourite little Warden understood, practically from the first moment he saw the little girl, and how much in advance he planned. And how incredibly stupid _he_ was.

"I… thought you really wanted to give her up," he admitted quietly.

"I know. And it was helpful, in fact. Your reactions, of both you and Morri made the stupid thing believe it, as well," Airam just waved his hand and laughed merrily.

And his heart melted into a puddle again.

oOo

They were too tired to do anything else than drop dead in their beds, so the golem had to wait. There it was, a statue, slightly too big for such little square, swarmed with pigeons. He knew Airam was itching to try the control rod, though the boy did not mention it... he probably didn't want to be called a childish brat again. The next morning, however, they had to help with burning the corpses, and burring the villagers, first. Of course. He wouldn't expect anything else from his little Warden. And he preferred it that way.

Once they did everything they could help with, Airam took the girl's father for a talk. He returned almost an hour later, in very foul mood. "Let's go," he growled in such dangerous way that they all simply got up and followed him without single protest. They went to the golem, and Airam pulled out the control rod from his pack and said the activation words.

Nothing happened.

Airam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Leliana. Could you please bring Matthias here? It seems he forgot to tell me something."

Leliana shot an inquiring glance at him, but didn't say anything, and obediently went to get the girl's father. They came almost immediately, though the man looked rather reluctant. Crossing his arms, he glared at Airam almost offended.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Warden?"

Alistair stared at the man with incredulous look. "Something else? Oh, I get it. So all this fighting and cleaning, that was a favour _you_ did for _us_?"

"No, no, you don't understand… I'm very grateful for what you did," the man realized his mistake, and immediately changed the tone.

"That's good. The survival rate of ingrates is ridiculously low. Or so I'm told," Zevran snapped angrily.

Airam chucked softly. "Leave him alone, you two. He's talking about the crystals he gave me for the golem… the problem is," he turned to the man, who was now clearly terrified, "the activation words do not work. Do you happen to know anything about it?"

It was very obvious that the man _did_ know something about it, but didn't wish to tell it. But Airam once again had that look that could scare the Crow Masters–one of these days he should remember to ask the crazy kid where he learned to glare like that. So it didn't take long before the poor guy broke down.

"It might have happened that my mother gave the merchant the wrong words. She didn't want it activated, ever again. That… thing killed my father. It is dangerous. You really shouldn't–"

"Yes, I'm very sorry for what happened to your father. But, from what I got from his journals, he dabbled into demonology quite a bit, and did some nasty experiments on free will with it..."

"Do not talk about my father like that! He was a good man, and a hero!" The man was furious, all fear and respect forgotten now.

"Your daughter was almost possessed because of your father's experiments!" Airam yelled right back, then again closed his eyes and took few deep breaths. "But do as you wish. What I want are the correct words."

"And what if that thing starts killing people, when it's activated again?"

"From what you told me, it was never proved that it was really golem that killed your father. The rod was sold almost immediately… _and_ with the wrong words, as well."

"I don't like what you're implying here – "

"Neither do I. But there it is. Now. Words?"

The man threw up his hands in frustration. "As you wish. It's '_dulen harn_'. Just wait till everyone is safely in their houses before use it. And once it's activated, please leave immediately. And don't forget, if the damned thing kills anyone, it's on your head."

"Of course. Thank you." Airam gave the man the sweetest smile, but he just shook his head and quickly went to warn the people that the terrible killing monster was going to be activated again.

"Errr… Are you sure about this, Airam? What if–just _if_–the man was right?" He asked, warily, well aware it was going to turn the boy's wrath on him.

But Airam only frowned. "You didn't read the journals. If I was here then, I'd help the golem to kill that guy," he said quietly, watching the people running away into the houses, shutting doors and windows, as if they feared that if they left them open, the golem could see them and break in just to kill them.

Once the square was empty again, the boy lifted the rod again. "_Dulen harn_."

A soft tremble ran along the golem, and he instantly put hands on his daggers, though he was not sure if it would be possible to hurt this pile of rocks with blades. He could feel the same tension from the others, as they waited what would happen.

"So, someone finally found the control rod. And it's another mage. Just my luck."

It was difficult to guess what it was thinking, with that stony face and expressionless voice, but it didn't seem to be hostile. But he wouldn't let his guard down just yet.

"I am. But I'm not like Wilhelm," Airam tried to smile encouragingly.

"It knew my previous master? No… it couldn't. It's been so long… many, many years… and all the time, I had to stand here and watch those wretched little villagers, scurry about me…"

"A voyeuristic statue. _Just_ what we missed," he heard Alistair grumble behind his back.

"So, what does It want from me?"

"It? Oh, you mean me. I'm sorry, where are my manners. I'm Airam, a Grey Warden. Pleased to meet you. What is your name?"

"It cares? The previous mage certainly didn't. I might have forgotten it during all the years I was called "golem". It was always 'golem do this, golem, do that, golem, kill the bandit, golem, pick me up, I tire of walking'… and just when I got used to the quiet life, It came with the control rod. Or… does It not have it?"

"It does. I mean, _I do_. Right in my hand."

"And yet… odd. Go on. Order me to do something."

"What? Why?"

"Just try it."

This didn't look good, it sounded like some dare game, and he grasped his daggers more firmly. Airam turned to them, to ask something, but then he saw his tense face and grinned mischievously.

"All right, then. Give Zevran a hug."

_Wait, what? That crazy, little_– "I… don't really appreciate hugs from strangers," he muttered, to the general amusement of the others.

Even Wynne. "Is that so, Zevran? But it does have marvellous bosom."

He would have answered with something, if he wasn't focused on the golem, in case it decided to obey the command. Luckily it didn't move.

"It holds the command rod, but I don't feel the compulsion to carry its order," it said calmly. "That means… the rod is broken, and I have free will again."

"That's… _great_. Right? And, um, now that you're free, what do you want to do? You're not going on the killing rampage, are you?" The crazy kid piped up nervously. It was almost cute. But he still didn't forgive him. _Oh I'll give you a hug, you little blighter_. _Just wait. _

The golem just scowled. "Don't be ridiculous. But… I don't know what to do. I don't have any memories, beyond watching this village. What about It? Why did It awaken me?"

"As I said, I'm a Grey Warden. I have a Blight to stop, and would appreciate the help with fighting darkspawn." Now that it was clear the golem was not going to attack them, the crazy kid sounded much more confident again.

"Darkspawn? Those creatures that attacked this village? They are even more annoying than villagers. Though not as bad as birds… birds are disgusting beasts that need to be exterminated."

He noticed the crazy kid shot a quick glance at him, but luckily, didn't have time to comment it, as the golem continued. What had gotten into the crazy kid today? Was this a revenge for his doubts yesterday?

"So I have two options now. To follow It or to go… somewhere else."

"You're welcome to come with me, if you wish."

"Are you sure about it? It is really big and it could be dangerous." Alistair didn't seem to be reassured at all.

"Really, Alistair? Wow, thanks for pointing it out for me. I would _never_ notice it otherwise," Airam snapped, still bit coldly. So it was not over yet? He'd really wish they would make up quickly. This was getting really boring.

The golem watched the exchange impassively. "Then I choose to follow It. My name is Shale, by the way."

"A pleasure. Could you stop calling me _It_, now?"

"No. It is shorter and sounds better."

"Oh." He saw the boy's shoulders tense for a moment. _Names are important. They show who you really are, _Airam's words echoed in his head, and suddenly he really wanted to hug him.

"First the evil witch, then an assassin, and now _this_. I really hope we're full for crazy now," Alistair growled softly.

"Well, welcome in our party, Shale."

"So… where does It want to go now?"

"Now? Now we're finally going to find some werewolves for Zev."

And ignoring confused protests and questions from the others, their little leader turned on his heels and headed down the path.


	8. Time to Rhyme

**Time to Rhyme**

Those three weeks it took to found the Dalish were definitely the best part, so far. Everyone was fed up with arguments and tension, so they carefully avoided any painful topics, and tried to be as bearable as possible. The evenings were the best. Sometimes Leliana would sing something, usually some Orlesian ballad, sweet and sad, or sometimes she would tell a story. Sometimes, Wynne would tell a story too, though her stories were more like history lessons with morals attached. But usually, he would spend the evenings talking with his little Warden, or with Morrigan, often teasing Alistair until he was as red as a beet.

And when they finally entered the forest, it was like a soothing balm not only on their nerves, but on all their senses. The mild light shining through dense branches, soft leaves under their feet, calling of unseen birds hidden in the treetops, made them forget, for a while, their mission, the desperate race against the Archdemon. For a few days, they were just group of friends on a journey in the forest.

Yes, it was great while it lasted. But then they finally found the elves. They were already tired, looking for some nice spot to set their camp up for the night when Leliana, who was scouting a bit ahead, returned and told them about the elven warriors guarding the path. Amused, he saw Airam's eyes light up – the kid was really looking forward to meeting the Dalish. He could only hope this would not be as disastrous as his own first meeting with the proud elven warriors.

But the moment the guard opened her mouth it was clear that yes, this was going to be as equally bad as that first time. "Hold right there! Where do you think you're going, _shemlen_?"

"We are not all humans, as you can see," Airam replied before he could stop him. Damn it. He should have told the boy to leave the talking to him this time.

"Flat-ears like you are hardly any better," she almost spat.

Airam stared at her as if she sprouted another head. "My ears are not flat," he said in a tone he would use with child trying to argue that the sky was green and grass was blue.

Perhaps he would manage not to laugh, but the expression of disbelief and confusion on the guard's face was more than he could bear. And the others thought the same, judging by the mad giggling behind his back.

The only ones who were not laughing were Airam and the guard, and both were looking more and more impatient and annoyed by every moment. Swallowing his laughter, he turned to the boy.

"Do not worry my dear Warden, your ears are quite lovely," he said, which caused another fit of giggles and chuckles from the others. "_'Flat-ears'_ is the endearing name Dalish elves use for poor souls like you and me who did not have the ultimate privilege of growing up as Dalish, but with humans - be it in an alienage, or in the Magi Tower. Such elves, they believe, try to assimilate with humans so much that, if they could, they would even flatten their ears just to look more like humans."

His explanation did nothing to improve Airam's mood; in fact, the boy looked rather angry right now.

"That's so… oh, sod it. I don't care." He turned to the guard, and he had that menacing look again. "I don't care what you think about me, or my friends. I'm a Grey Warden, and I'm on an important mission. Take me to your leader, immediately."

"And how can I be sure you really are Grey Wardens?" The guard obviously decided to be stubborn. It was a rather foolish idea, really. Thankfully, before Airam could snap back with something equally foolish, Alistair decided to step in.

"So… you have many visitors who claim to be Grey Wardens? And how do you prove if they are real ones? You have some handy darskpawn to test our skill or what?"

"I guess it's not a lie many would come up with." The guard finally lowered her bow. "Very well. I will take you to the Keeper. But keep your hands where I can see them. And act respectfully. If you make any troubles, you won't get out of the camp alive."

"Charming, to be sure," he heard the boy grumble softly as he followed her lead.

All annoyance was quickly forgotten however when they entered the camp. It was not a camp as much as it a field-ambulance, really. Most of the hunters were injured and screaming in pain, many unattended - as there were not enough nurses for everyone. The rest, mostly elders and children, looked absolutely terrified. The few remaining warriors were positioned all around the camp, fully armed, as if they expected an attack at any moment.

Nobody paid any attention to them, until the guard stopped in front of one elf. "Zathrian. These people claim to be Grey Wardens. They say they have an important mission and need to discuss it with you."

"I see. You came because of the treaty our ancestors signed so long ago. Trust me, normally I would not deny our help, but as you can see, our clan has its own problems right now. There simply aren't enough of our warriors left," he explained, grimly.

"That I can see," Airam barely whispered, and Zevran remembered how the boy blamed himself for coming too late to Honnleath… and this was worse, much worse. "What happened here? Did darskpawn attack you?"

"No, it was not a darkspawn attack, but it was equally bad. We were attacked by werewolves."

The boy winced and the Keeper shot a suspicious glance at him. "But, I thought… So werewolves really exist?"

"I assure you that the beasts that attacked our camp were quite real," the Keeper snapped, irritated. "Brecilian forest is a special place, and you will find that many legends walk alive here. But that doesn't matter right now. As you can see, there's nothing we can do for you, so perhaps you should leave now."

He knew what Airam's reply would be – and was, in fact, relieved that he was right. "Is there nothing we can do to help you?"

The Keeper looked at him, as if he only really saw him now. "You would help us? It would be probably easier and faster for you to find another Dalish tribe," he said. "But if you are really willing to help, it is more than welcome. It will not be an easy task, however."

"Good. Here I was afraid we'd get out of practice," Alistair grumbled. "So what is it we have to do? I just hope there are no dragons involved this time."

The Keeper frowned at that, apparently thinking that Alistair was mocking him. "No, there are no dragons involved. The werewolves… are cursed beings. When they bite someone, the unlucky victim is slowly, but unstoppably, turned into a werewolf as well. Our warriors… have some four or five days, before they will turn into beasts."

"And there is no cure for this?"

"No… not yet, at least. I think I can make a cure, but for that I need… one very special ingredient. The heart of the wolf from which the curse originated."

"But that was surely a long time ago," Wynne pointed out. "Wouldn't it be dead by now?"

"I… have certain reasons to believe that it is still alive. Witherfang, as the Dalish call it, is not a normal beast, after all."

Airam nodded. "Find Witherfang and get its heart. I get it. Anything else?"

The Keeper frowned even more at that cheeky answer. "Do not underestimate Witherfang, Warden. This attack was the worst, but hardly the first. We have lived with this threat for centuries, and many of our hunters have tried to accomplish what you want to do now. None of them returned."

"I do not underestimate it, Keeper. But you should not underestimate us, either. We are good at extraordinary tasks."

He shot a surprised glance at Airam. What was with all the cheeky answers? That was so unlike him. The guard was too harsh, but given the circumstances, he really didn't blame her. And the Keeper was civil enough. There was no need to provoke him like that. It could cause more trouble than he cared for, so he quickly turned to Airam.

"Well, now. We better go and prepare ourselves, yes?"

"Yes," said Wynne, who obviously also sensed the danger. "Would you please be so kind as to show us where we can set up our tents? If we are going to fight such a strong and powerful enemy, we should rest and prepare ourselves properly."

oOo

The Keeper invited them for a dinner that night. Maybe he wanted to make up for his cheeky comments before, or maybe he was just eager to eat something else rather than stew from dried lamb meat – whatever the reason was, Airam agreed. And the dinner was excellent, better even than at Redcliffe castle – a roasted deer, with a lot of aromatic herbs, forest fruits, and fresh bread, the kind that only Dalish made, thin round loaves with a golden crust, and bittersweet mead.

Alas, the atmosphere did not match the excellent food. The Dalish watched their guests with curiosity and suspicion, and a few times they heard "flat-ears" and "shems" whispered accusingly. But none of them dared to challenge them openly, and it seemed that although not as pleasant as it was supposed to be, the dinner would end in peace. Then, just as they were going to retire to their tents, one of the elves asked if they thought they would be able to succeed where the Dalish hunters had failed. He was bit anxious as to how the crazy kid would react, but Airam just smiled.

"If we are lucky, yes," he replied warily. And it should have ended there, but it didn't. The Dalish elf didn't want to let go that easily.

"Oh, I see, if you're lucky. Our most skilled hunters tried, and now are dead or worse, but for… _outsiders_ like you, a bit of luck is all it takes, is that it?"

Even the other elves squirmed a bit at this open provocation. "Sarel! Please don't mind him, Warden. He… lost his wife in the attack… hasn't stopped drinking since," explained the woman that sat next to Zathrian.

Airam gave her a sad smile. "He only said aloud what all of you whispered the whole evening," he said bitterly. "Humans despise me because I'm an elf; you despise me because I grew up with humans. But you don't even know me. For all you know, I could be Dalish, too."

There was a ringing silence after those words. The boy just shot one last angry look at them, and then simply walked away, without turning back. They hurried after him, followed by a cold quietness.

oOo

The next morning they left before the sunrise – and before most of the elves got up; Airam obviously didn't care much about sharing another friendly meal with them. Pity. The food would have been good. Wynne decided to stay and try at least ease the pain of the wounded hunters, and Airam asked Sten and Leliana to stay as well, in case the beasts decided to come again, he explained. It wasn't likely to happen, but nobody was eager to start another argument.

Regardless, this was the strangest forest Zevran had ever been in. Then again, he didn't go into the woods often. His longest stay in the forest was when he so foolishly ran off to the Dalish, fresh from apprenticeship. The stay in their camp was much shorter than it took to find them… He could still remember the disappointment he felt then and the feeling of emptiness when the Keeper told him he could not stay. A flat-ear was not welcome, and he had no proof to his claim… There were also a few other times, when his marks naively thought that they could hide from the Crows in some forest hut. But there were always many little birds willing to sing where their former friends were hiding, if not for money, then to save their own necks.

All those forests were dark, dirty and boring.

This one was dark, dirty, and full of nasty surprises. Like possessed trees.

When they encountered the first one that jumped in their path, waving it massive wooden hands and trailing roots behind it, Airam let the out a squeak for which they would be teasing him for many months. Though with his quick temper, the crazy kid could decide to turn them into the ice statues…

And it wasn't as if they weren't scared as well. The damned creature just jumped in their path, waving its big wooden hands, trying to imprison them in its branches, trailing roots behind it, with the sound of cracking dozens of sprigs at every step. Who wouldn't be scared?

They were so totally bewildered that they would have been easy prey, if Alistair hadn't realized that if it was wooden, it should also be flammable. He was furious – the idea that it was _the Chantry boy_ who managed to keep his head clear, while he, a Crow, was quickly loosing to a piece of animated wood, was simply maddening. So when they met the second walking tree, he took it as an opportunity to get his revenge. And if he had any say it, these trees would soon become extinct.

The werewolves didn't look like he imagined them, either. He always thought they would look more or less like humans, but bigger and stronger and with yellow eyes and sharp fangs. Instead, they were animals, big, smelly and constantly trying to catch fleas in their fur. Well, at least the fangs part was correct.

It seemed they were waiting for them – a group of ten or so big, ugly beasts, led by the biggest and ugliest, of course. They didn't look very happy when they saw his little Warden. Apparently, they'd been waiting for the Keeper. Disappointed, the leader called Airam "the servant of Dalish." Which didn't exactly endear them to the boy.

"I came to kill Witherfang," he informed the beasts calmly. "Either tell me where he is or get lost before I lose my patience and kill you."

For some reason, the werewolves did not appreciate his kind offer, deciding to attack them instead. At least this time he expected it. It still wasn't easy. Their strength, speed and reflexes were… well, beastly. But even werewolves die, eventually, if one stabs and hits them long enough. They had killed four when the leader called the rest off and ran away, muttering something that the forest will protect them.

"That was invigorating," he panted, grinning madly. And he meant it – after all, winning in such battle, being alive while your opponent lied dead at your feet, nothing could really match that feeling.

Alistair just frowned at him. "You know, Zevran, the next time you wish for a bigger diversity of our foes, please ask for some cute fluffy bunnies, will you?"

"It's not my fault we have such an excellent leader that so readily fulfills any of our wishes," he chuckled.

The leader in question, completely drained of energy, was sitting amidst the heap of bloodied ice shards slowly melting into pink puddles, completely ignorant that it was ruining his robes. But as he was trying to fix a poultice on his right arm, which had a nasty looking scratch, perhaps he could be excused.

"Of course I do. I'm the leader of the saviours of Ferelden, remember? We're the best of the best and I'm the best of you." He tried to grin, but it was bit strained.

"Here, let me help you," he offered. It was a pity that Leliana stayed in the camp – while he always enjoyed Morrigan's snarky comments, she wasn't that willing to clean wounds and help with healing. Or just help with anything.

"Thanks. May I suggest a lunch break? Let's find a nice spot where we can set up a fire."

The spot they found was too nice. It was a complete camp – with a fire burning, neatly arranged bedrolls, and cosy tents, all looking as if it was prepared just a moment ago for them. It all seemed so peaceful... As he listened to the crackling of the fire, all he wanted was to lie down on one of the bedrolls and sleep, and forget all about werewolves, Crows, or anything else. Just sleep…

"There's strong power here. We should leave," he heard Morrigan say, and he wondered how she could say such thing. This was clearly the most perfect camp he had ever seen.

"I wonder if the Dalish hunters set this camp… Do you think they would mind if we rested here?" Alistair's voice sounded tired and sleepy.

Airam shook his head. "No, Al, I don't think so. If they left just for a moment, there would be some things in their tents, and if they left for good, they wouldn't leave all this behind – especially a burning fire. Morrigan's right, there's something fishy going on here. Come on, guys, we should leave."

Even Rask whined in protest – the clever dog was already lying on one of the bedrolls. But they obeyed. They all turned to leave –

And then he woke up. What a strange dream it was. Something about him leaving the Crows and fighting the darkspawn, with some crazy kid and his friends… The weirdest dream he ever had. Taliesen would like to hear it. He was almost disappointed it was over –

"Zev. Zev! Can you hear me? Look at me! Come on, snap out of it!"

He opened his eyes – and realized it wasn't a dream. His little Warden was kneeling next to him, looking slightly worried. He breathed in relief.

"What happened?"

"Are you finally awake? How do you feel? Can you get up?"

"I think so, yes." He tried, but he was feeling dizzy and nauseated, and had to lean on the boy for a balance. Looking around he saw that Morrigan and Alistair looked just as shaky and weak as he felt. At least he wasn't the only one who passed out.

"What a disgusting demon," snarled Alistair. "Preying on random travellers, catching them into his net like a spider, for who knows how long."

"'Tis good that at least one of us resisted the urge to sleep. Or we would all be dry bones, just like the others."

Others? He finally looked around, and saw what Morrigan meant. The camp was gone. Instead, there was just a small clearing, covered by heaps of human and elven bones, some dried and whitened during the years, some looking rather fresh, not older than few days.

"So our fearless leader saved us again?" he asked.

"Your fearless leader is now even hungrier and more tired than before," snapped Airam. "So for the Maker's sake, can we now go and set up some real camp and call it a day?"

"Of course. Come, lean on me. How's your arm?"

He cursed under his breath as he watched Alistair supporting the boy, just when he wanted to do the same. Why wasn't he faster?

"Thanks, Al. I'm fine; worse thing is I had to drink several potions to be able to fight that blasted thing. I only have few left now."

"No need to worry, I still have more than enough. And we can always mix some new ones when we make camp," offered Morrigan.

Airam didn't look very happy. "Yes, but it will take half the night," he complained.

He didn't say anything, still feeling bad for falling on such silly trick again. If he had managed to stay awake, he could have been able to help Airam with the fight and he wouldn't be this exhausted now and would be able to have proper rest at night. It seemed that he was always failing him… But he was trained as an assassin, not as a demon slayer. What he would give for a bunch of mercenaries or assassins. It would be nice to fight some normal humanoids. Werewolves and they flies didn't count.

They progressed slowly, because with Airam injured they didn't want to risk further fights. He took Rask and scouted ahead for any werewolf or walking trees, but they were lucky and didn't find any. An hour or so later, they saw another clearing, with only one big oak tree in the centre. It seemed ideal for a camp – until the tree spoke.

"Hrrrrm... what manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?" it thundered in deep voice.

"I'm an elf… Aren't you going to attack me?"

"Have no fear, I wish no fight. It always worsens my twig blight," it replied.

Zevran gazed at it with an utter bewilderment. Nobody was ever going to believe this, he realized.

Airam was now grinning. "Oh! That's excellent, then. We also have problems with the Blight, you know, and don't want to fight unnecessarily," he said. "We're Grey Wardens."

"Allow me to welcome thee. I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree," it replied politely.

"It's… _rhyming_. It's a _rhyming tree_. Maker knows what spirit is involved here. Better be careful, Airam," said Morrigan suspiciously, and he nodded in agreement.

"I've never heard of rhyming tree," the crazy kid ignored them completely. "Why are you rhyming?"

"I do not know, why dost thou not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet's soul's in me... Does that make me a poet tree?"

"_Poet tree_! Oh, you're _good_! Me, I suck at rhyming. Believe me, you wouldn't want to hear it. Couldn't make a good rhyme if my life depended on it," replied the crazy kid enthusiastically.

"Would you allow us to set up camp here? We are rather tired. And at least we could talk more about poetry, if it wouldn't bother you," suggested Airam..

Even Rask rolled his eyes at that. But it was no use to argue. Their fearless little leader had just found another kindred spirit. They could only hope the tree would not go mad during the night and crush them in their sleep.

"Thou are polite and quite bright; yes, thou can stay here for a night," thundered the tree.

It actually seemed quite happy to have some company, and after they set up camp and ate their cold dinner – they all silently agreed that it wouldn't be clever to make a fire here – they sat for long hours, listening to its rhymed tales of other walking trees, which he called _Sylvans_, elves, werewolves and old wars. It was interesting, and its rhymes _were_ quite good, but he refused to relax, not after what had happened before.

Airam, on the other hand, seemed quite relaxed. He was the best audience ever, always gasping or laughing at right places, and asking many questions. Especially about Witherfang. Well, they did find out quite a lot about werewolves, and maybe it would help, but he didn't like how the tree looked at the boy. It was up to something, he was sure about it.

And he was right.

"Unless thou thinkst it far too soon, might I ask of thee of a boon?" It asked, when all stories were told and nobody had any further questions.

"Of course," came the unsurprising answer. "What can I do for you?"

"I have only one desire, to solve a matter very dire: as I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn."

Airam blinked. "An… _acorn_?"

"All I have is my being, my seed. Without it I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out; yet I shall die if left without."

"You would die? Don't worry, we'll – "

"We will not. Why should we?"

"Morrigan! How can you say such thing? The Poet Tree will die without it! Even you can't be that heartless!" Airam sounded shocked, but he had to agree with Morrigan. They had enough problems without hunting a thief that stole an _acorn_.

The tree looked at the boy sadly. "I do not ask the help for free. Help me, and I will help thee. The way to Witherfang I can teach; without me he stays beyond thy reach," it said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"I apologize for my friend," said Airam quickly, shooting an angry look at Morrigan, "she's… not exactly the artistic type. We would appreciate any help you can give us, but we _will_ bring the acorn even without it."

Airam looked directly into its eyes, and after a moment, the tree hummed approvingly. "Thy words I trust. Now have some rest. Thou need thy strength back for this quest."

He had a feeling that if it could make its big wooden face smile, it would.

oOo

The keeper said they had four or five days. One and half days was already gone, and they still weren't any closer to Witherfang than when they had started. They had killed what felt like hundreds of werewolves, Sylvans, and bears. It slowed them down. The atmosphere was grim – nobody felt like joking, and they walked in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Then they found the camp. Empty. Everything prepared, tent up, fire burning, but nobody around. And a lot of magic in the air. Both Airam and Morrigan were tense, staffs ready, looking warily around them. Rask was quietly growling ever since they noticed the flickering light of fire through the trees.

So when a man popped up out of the thin air right next to Airam, they almost killed him right then. The poor guy was barking mad, spouting paranoid accusations that _they_ sent them to take him back. He also insisted on silly games of questions- _ask a question, and you'll get a question, give an answer and you will get the same_, as he explained. Anyone else except his little Warden would simply kill the fool, but no, he had to accept the madman's rules. For a while, they were exchanging nonsense, before Airam asked the question in which he was really interested.

"Was it you who stole the Poet… I mean, the Grand Oak's acorn?"

"Yes! Yes it was me, it was easy! The stupid tree should have guarded it better!"

Airam looked at him pointedly, before starting another banter with the man. After a moment, when they were deep in the same game again, he melted into the shadows. He checked the tent first, but there was nothing except the dirtiest bedroll he had ever seen and bunch of equally dirty clothes. Then he went to check the two chests he noticed outside, but there was just useless junk inside. He heard Airam's voice, more desperate every moment, trying to come up with another silly question.

"So… errr… have you ever been in love?"

Tch. He better find that acorn – and quickly. Looking around, he noticed the tree stump nearby. It was hollow. A perfect hiding place for valuables. He quickly knelt down next to it. It was trapped – nothing he couldn't disarm, but it definitely meant there was something valuable there. Carefully, inch by inch, he slid his hand inside… Yes. There it was. Something small and round. He pulled his hand out and looked at the acorn in his palm. So much trouble for something so small and trivial.

He silently stood back behind Airam, trying to pretend as if he never even left. The madman eyed him suspiciously, but he was the perfect picture of innocence. Soon after Airam happily said his goodbyes, and they walked out of the camp as quickly as they could without looking too suspicious.

When they were reasonably far away they started running, and didn't stop for almost half an hour, panting and laughing loudly.

"Maker, Zev, you're really the best! Now, let's run back to the Poet Tree, and see how he can help us to get to Witherfang. Morri, please, let me speak this time, all right?"

Morrigan disapproved – and on their way back she expressed it at least twenty times. The first two or three times were rather funny, but then it became boring, especially as Airam remained silent and refused to answer back.

Regardless, the tree was beyond itself with joy, and immediately composed several sonnets. Or were they odes? It rhymed, anyway. It was already night and the tree ensured them that it would show them the way tomorrow. So they had another cold meal and listened to a lot more rhymed stories – all except Morrigan, who stubbornly retreated to her tent. It didn't seem the tree minded.

The next morning, the sun still wasn't up when the tree woke them up and took them to the crossroad. "Thou shall follow this path down. At its end lies an ancient town. There thou will find whom you seek, but be wary for he is not weak."

It then gave to Airam what looked like a common branch. "This once was my own living wood; it has my power and will serve you good," it explained. Suddenly it looked very lonely – just an old, fragile tree that could be easily broken by a bit stronger storm.

"I wish thee well, my little friend. I shall remember thou till the end. May the sunlight find thou, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong."

"Hey now. This isn't goodbye forever. I will come to visit you, once the Blight is over."

"Thy words are kind. Then I shall wait till here brings thou again thy fate."

Airam smiled and nodded. "And the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we'll be able to stop the Blight and enjoy quiet days full of sunshine and poetry. Let's go, guys."

They left in silence. After a while, when they reached the point where the path winded to the left, they turned back. The tree was still there, bathed in the first bright rays of sunshine, a lone remainder of a long forgotten history that nobody cared for any more.

Except his crazy kid, of course.

oOo

Perhaps it was the power of the wood the Poet Tree gave them, perhaps it was for some other reason, but none of the Sylvans they passed on their way attacked them. After several hours of swift and undisturbed walking, they found the ruins the tree mentioned. It was ancient and overgrown with moss and bushes, but it still looked rather impressive.

What didn't look impressive at all was the large group of werewolves waiting for them in the front, led by one of those that attacked them two days ago.

"You should not have come. This is not your business, elf. Leave."

Oh come on. You can't really mean that. Look. I'm only looking for Witherfang. There's no need to – "

"I will not let you hurt the Lady! Attack!"

Lady? Wasn't Witherfang supposed to be a big, old male wolf? But there would be enough time to muse over that later, after they got rid of these pesky werewolves.

When the attack started, Airam automatically used the weapon he was holding in his hands – which was the branch from the tree. The werewolves howled in fright when they noticed it. "That's from the Elder Tree! It betrayed us! The forest betrayed us! "

Airam stared at them, then at the branch and then tried to use it as a staff. Magic burst out of it, hitting the nearest werewolf and throwing him back with an enormous force. The werewolves howled again and retreated for a few steps. The only one that didn't seem afraid was the leader.

"Do not retreat! Fight! We must protect the Lady," he barked at the others and they stopped and took the fight pose again.

"Ha! Come then, face the Power of the Poet Tree, and despair!"

Encouraged by the sudden reluctance of their opponents, they plunged into battle, fighting with all their might. It would take ten times more werewolves to match their power and determination. Soon, half of the werewolves were lying dead or heavily injured, unable to fight, and the other half ran away into the ruins. All that was left to do was to kill the leader and proceed into the ruins.

Then a huge white wolf jumped between the leader and them, baring its teeth on the boy and growling angrily. But it didn't attack, and neither did boy.

"Hold on," he ordered, and they lowered their weapons and watched as the wolf and the leader of the werewolves retreated into the ruins.

"Why didn't we kill it? That had to be –"

"Witherfang. Yes, Morri, I know. But… something's odd. Something doesn't fit. I'd like to know what's going on here."

Alistair frowned. "So what now? We knock on the door and ask them politely if they would answer a few questions before we kill them?"

"And why not? A bit of good manners never hurts," he chuckled, but Airam just sighed

"Stop it, Al. And you, too, Zev. Now is not the time for clever remarks," he ordered.

"Is that so? And what about the 'face the power of the poetry'?"

"That, my dear Zev, was something quite different," snapped the crazy kid haughtily. "Besides, it's not poetry but Poet Tree and it's the name of my new amazing weapon. And before you start another word battle, which you would lose anyway, we should really move on."

oOo

The ruins were big, mouldy, dirty, and after few hours he hated it from the bottom of his heart. There was nothing there except ruined, mouldy, dirty junk… and locked chests. The first two he managed to unlock somehow, but the third was complicated like hell, the fourth took him almost an hour and when he saw the fifth he lied that he didn't have any lock picks left. Which earned him an amused – and very knowing – look from the crazy kid.

Most of the things inside the chests were rusted, eaten by woodworms, or decayed – not even worthy of the trouble it took to open the locks in the first place

The only interesting thing was a small phylactery they found on a shelf in one of the halls. Airam carefully picked it up, and, to their surprise, started talking to it. Then he gently put it on the nearby altar. There was a bright light, the phylactery cracked, and they had a feeling as if a sudden breeze brushed their cheeks before disappearing again. Which was not likely, as they were deep under the ground. Airam then explained that there was the mind of a mage trapped in there and that the mage taught him some new skills. It sounded completely crazy, but he learnt long ago that if his little Warden was involved, anything was possible.

Besides that, there were only more werewolves and some animated skeletons. Few times, they had a close call, like when Airam banged into the room full of werewolves, but otherwise they did surprisingly well. The worst thing was that it slowed them down. The third day was almost over and they still hadn't found Witherfang.

They were just about to settle for the night, when two werewolves approached them, hands lifted to show they were unarmed.

"We bring a message from the Lady, elf. If you want to find out the truth, come with us to her. She is willing to talk to you."

"And how do we know this is not a trap?" asked Alistair.

"We do not wish to fight you any more. You have already proven how strong you are and we have no wish to anger you further."

"All right, then," agreed Airam, "but only if she invites us for dinner."

"That can be arranged," one of them said, humourlessly.

They quickly gathered their things and followed the werewolves deeper and deeper into the ruins. Soon, they were totally surrounded by werewolves, though they behaved peacefully and did not attack. For a moment. He wasn't going to risk it, and so he kept his hands on his daggers, just in case.

Just when he started to wonder how much deeper could they go, they stopped in front of a set of massive doors. The werewolves opened them, one at each side, and told them to go in. Looking around for any sign of an ambush or a trap, they entered. It was a big hall that once had to be just as majestic as Andraste's Temple. At the end of it was some kind of a throne, and sitting on it was the strangest creature he had ever seen – half sexy woman, half a tree, with slim, twig-like fingers and long mossy hair.

"Welcome," she said. "I am the Lady of the Forest. Also known as Witherfang."

* * *

_A million thanks to my awesome Beta Brelaina! Thank you for your help._


	9. Beast At Heart

Special thanks to **Brelaina**, my amazing Beta.

* * *

**Beast At Heart**

It seemed killing Witherfang was indeed going to be very difficult. Not for the reasons the Keeper would expect, however. To kill a rabid wolf was one thing, to kill a beautiful – well, whatever she was – was something quite different. Especially if the blush on Airam's face was any sign. One would think that this was the first time the boy had seen a naked woman…

In fact, it quite possible was. He would ask about it later. Preferably in the camp with everyone around. Teasing Alistair was growing bit a old. This would be nice change. He could already hear reactions of the others in his mind. But now was not the moment, so he pushed it away and focused again on what was going on in front of him.

"You wished to talk to me, and I'm here," he heard Airam say in that haughty tone of his. "So say what you want. I'm running out of time."

He winced. That was not the way to talk to a woman, even if she wasn't the Lady of the Forest, and they weren't standing in the room with at least thirty werewolves. All of which were now growling angrily at the Warden. It seemed he should give the crazy kid some lessons in that area as well.

Thank the Maker the Lady wasn't offended. Or perhaps she was too wise and diplomatic to show it on her face.

"I know why you hurry, Warden." She smiled, and something flashed in her eyes. "But you will not be able to save the Dalish unless you listen to what I have to say."

"Is that so? Keeper Zathrian told me differently."

"Yes, Zathrian. Let us talk about him. How much did he really tell you?"

"Well…" Airam hesitated. "He told me… that he could find a cure to the curse, if I bring him a – certain ingredient," he said, wisely skipping out the part about ripping out her heart.

"My heart, I presume?" The Lady smiled at Airam knowingly. The werewolves howled angrily and almost jumped at the boy's throat. He quickly pulled out his daggers. One more moment and things would go very wrong. But the Lady held up her hand.

"Please, calm down everyone. We do not wish to fight." She turned to the boy once again. "Did Zathrian also tell you why he needs my heart for the cure? I am indeed the source of the curse. But it was Zathrian who created me."

"I – don't understand," blunted Airam, and he couldn't blame him. He didn't understand either – except that the Keeper, Zathrian, had played them. And he didn't like to be played.

"Many centuries ago, the Dalish were at war with a human tribe who lived here. Oh, there were no big armies and heroic battles… only malicious killing and murdering, on both sides. One day, the humans caught a pair of young elves, almost children. It was clear that they were not warriors. But almost every one of the humans that caught them had lost someone in the war. Blinded with hate and thirst for revenge, they committed a terrible crime. They… raped them, and tortured them, and left to die in the forest."

He couldn't see Airam's face, but from the boy's stance it was clear he was furious. He shivered. Was it just him or had the temperature in the room suddenly dropped? "Go on." Airam's voice was cold and dangerous.

"When the elves found the children, the boy was dead already. The girl still lived, and they took her back to their camp. Soon, her injuries were healed. At least those on her body. Those on her soul could not be healed. When she found out she was with a child, she killed herself."

"They were Zathrian's children, weren't they?" whispered Airam.

The temperature in the room dropped even more, and now it was clear that it was Airam who was doing it. He drew in a sharp breath. He remembered how the crazy kid once lost control and froze Alistair for half an hour – and then he was just mildly annoyed because of Alistair's comment on his hair. Now he was furious, surrounded in a cold aura. _Andraste protect us all_. He didn't realize he muttered the words aloud, until Morrigan shot a surprised glance at him.

"Yes. Zathrian was… broken with the pain and rage. At the very place of the crime, he performed the ritual, using his own blood to create a curse against his enemies. The curse was so powerful it gained its own shape and form… It became a being of its own. That is how I came to be. But back then, I was only a rabid monster, in the shape of big, white wolf. The wolf caused havoc amongst people, and every human that was bitten lost their mind, becoming a rabid, merciless monster as well."

"Don't ask me to pity them. I won't. I can't."

"We do not want your pity. We would tear those murders ourselves, if we could. But the elves are worse than them. This curse is worse than anything our people did. We want it to stop. Or we will kill them," snarled the leader of the werewolves.

"Swiftrunner. Calm down. We do not want to kill anyone," said the Lady quickly, shooting an irritated look at the beast.

"Allow me to finish my story, Warden, before you choose what you want to do… Years passed, turning into centuries. Perhaps it was the magic of this forest, or perhaps it was the cries of the cursed humans, but I slowly got a conscience and a mind. And I realized the cruelty of my existence. I was meant to remain a hated and feared monster. My only purpose was to spread the curse and suffering. Can you blame me that I decided to change it? That I wanted to help those I had caused so much pain?"

Airam remained silent, but the cold aura surrounding him diminished a little bit. Encouraged, the Lady continued.

"In time, the werewolves regained their mind as well. And all they wish now is to end the curse. The punishment of the men that murdered Zathrian's children was more than deserved, but how many more generations must atone for their sin? Look around, Warden. Look at the children. Do they deserve this curse, this perversion of life, for something that happened so long ago, that even the grandfathers of their grandfathers did not remember it?"

_Children?_ He followed the Lady's gaze and noticed a few smaller figures, peeping from behind some of the adults. They were… rather cute, with big round eyes, baring tiny fangs at Airam.

"For many times, I have tried to contact Zathrian to talk. But he refuses to even think about it, and avoids me. That is why we decided to attack the Dalish camp. We hoped that he would want to try to save his own kin, now that they are sharing the curse with us. Instead, he sent you to bring him my heart."

There was uneasy silence when the Lady finished her story, all eyes fixed at Airam, who was standing there with his head bowed, lost in his thoughts. Once again, everyone was expecting his little Warden to come up with some miracle that would solve all their troubles – and that he would do it immediately.

Finally the boy lifted his head. "I am a Grey Warden," he said slowly. "Above everything else. I need the help of the Dalish to stop the Blight, or the whole Ferelden will fall. Including everyone here, even those children. If you know of any other way to stop the curse than what Zathrian suggested, I am willing to try it. If not…"

"You do not need the Dalish! We are stronger than them! Did we not prove it? Only one attack was enough to almost annihilate them. Help us and we will help you with the Blight. All that is needed is to kill Zathrian and his followers!"

There was a moment of silence after the proposal, and his heart skipped a beat. What if – no. His little Warden would not do such thing... would he?

Completely ignoring the werewolf that made the suggestion, Airam faced the Lady again. "You said you wanted to talk to Zathrian, about the curse. If he came, what would you do? Do you know a different way how to end this, or would you just let the werewolves kill him?"

"Zathrian used his blood to create the curse, and only through his blood can it be destroyed. Zathrian would die. And so would I, as the curse is bound within me. Nobody else would be hurt. The werewolves would become humans again, and the Dalish would be cured as well."

"Then I guess we should go get Zathrian here," sighed Airam, and turned to leave. "We don't have much time left."

"There is no need for that," said one of the werewolves, and everyone turn to him in surprise. "I bring news from our guards, Lady. The Keeper Zathrian has left the camp and is on his way here. He will be here when the sun rises."

_Well now, isn't that a happy coincidence?_ If Zathrian avoided the werewolves so far, why would he come now? It looked too much like a trap. They better get going.

"That is happy news, indeed," said the Lady. "Now that we are not in such hurry, I would like to invite you, Warden, and your friends for a dinner."

A fleeting image, short but painfully detailed, of all of them sitting on the ground, chewing on half of a freshly slaughtered calf, raw and still bloody, crossed his mind. Not an experience he really wanted to have, but he couldn't see a way out of it – unless they wanted to offend and fight a few dozens of werewolves. And judging by how tense Airam's posture suddenly became, he would bet the boy thought the same.

The Lady didn't miss it, either. "Do not worry, Warden. We are not such beasts as you think we are." She smiled.

"Ah – I – of course. It – it would be our pleasure," stammered Airam, with quick sideways glance to them. But there was nothing they could do to help him.

It turned out they didn't have to worry – the food wasn't perhaps as good as at the Dalish camp, but at least it was civilized. There were normal tables, and normal plates, and that was more than they could hope for.

"They want to end the curse and become humans again, so they had to learn human customs, as well," explained the Lady with the voice full of pride.

At first he was concerned about poisons, but the werewolves ate the same thing as they did, cutting the meat right in front of them, always giving them the best parts. It was obvious they were trying very hard to present themselves as civilized people, not as wild beasts.

In fact, even though the meal wasn't that good (they obviously still had a lot to learn), the atmosphere was much better. The cubs – children – or whatever they were, were fascinated by them, but especially by Alistair and Morrigan. The witch's deadly glances scared them for a moment, but once they realized that was the worst of it, they became much bolder, coming nearer and asking a lot of questions. And when Alistair produced a piece of cheese from somewhere, he immediately became their best friend and a hero.

It was perfect – too perfect. He realized there was no chance that they would kill the werewolves now. And if Zathrian refused too cooperate… especially considering how the Dalish treated Airam…

He didn't want to think about it.

oOo

The werewolves took them to a separate room, which they apparently cleaned just for their sake, and even prepared four bunk rolls made of nice, soft furs. He decided he would take some of them with him, when they left the next day.

"Perhaps we should do as that werewolf suggested," said Morrigan warily, once they were alone.

"Why am I not surprised you come up with it," snorted Alistair. "Only a heartless bitch like you could even suggest it."

"'Tis as Airam said. You are Grey Wardens, and your first concern should be to stop the Blight. You cannot afford to act like a sentimental fool. The werewolves are much stronger than the Dalish."

"Not wanting to slaughter innocents is neither sentimental, nor foolish! Besides, we promised to help them! Don't you have any honour at all?"

"Honour? How can you be so naïve? When you fail to defeat the Archdemon, honour will not help you."

"Why don't you tell her something, Airam?"

"Yes, why don't you explain to this fool how the world works?"

Airam just sighed. "As you wish. Morrigan, don't be a bitch. Alistair, don't be naïve. Now, be good kids, stop arguing and go to sleep," he said. "I'll take the first watch."

Both of them stormed away, pulling their bunks as far from each other as possible. He chuckled as he watched it. They really were like little children… perhaps he should suggest Airam to spank them.

"And what is your opinion on all this?" Asked Airam quietly when the other two laid down on their bunks and turned to their respective walls.

"I will follow your orders, whatever you decide."

Airam arched an eyebrow. "That's not what I asked."

He hesitated. What Morrigan said made sense. It would be more practical to side with the werewolves. As an assassin, he was trained to care about what was practical and useful, not for the empty phrases such as 'honour' or 'sympathy'. And yet…

"My mother was Dalish," he said, avoiding Airam's look. "But I am not. I do not have any allegiances to the Dalish, and I will follow you no matter what you decide," he added.

"You mother was Dalish? But how did you get into the Crows, then? Was your tribe attacked by slave hunters?" Airam moved to sit next to him. "If… you don't mind me asking," he added quickly.

"Ah, no. She ran away to the city, with some woodcutter. There the woodcutter got some dirty disease and died, and she… she became a whore, to pay his debts. I was born in the whorehouse. She didn't survive the delivery. My first victim, as it was." He wasn't sure why he was telling the boy all this, but once he started, he found out he couldn't stop.

"So you didn't even know her? Zev, that's horrible!"

"Is it? I don't know. There were many such tales among the slaves," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

"The only thing I had left from my mother was a pair of gloves. Dalish make. That was all that she kept from her previous life. When the Crows bought me, I took them with me. But they were found – we were not allowed to keep any ties to our previous life. I've never seen them after that. I guess they sold them. Crows never waste anything."

"I – I'm sorry Zev. I can't imagine how hard it all was – "

Airam's voice was full of pity and that was the last thing he wanted. "While I appreciate your sympathy, it is not needed, really. It is just that the visit to the Dalish camp brought back memories… I once actually ran away from the Crows and tried to join the Dalish, you know. It… did not work well."

"No really? I can't imagine why! They are so welcoming and kind to their elven kin from cities!"

He chuckled. "Our wild relatives suffer of terrible boreism, yes."

"Of _what?"_

"Of being insufferably boring. Tsk, tsk. I would expect someone as bookish as you to know that."

Airam laughed. "I don't believe you. You just made up that word now."

"You wound me so, my dear. I ensure you it is quite a real word, even if it is not found in ordinary vocabularies. It is something known only to the most educated."

"Riiiiight. Of course it is," the boy laughed, but then suddenly became serious again. "But even though they suffer this – _boreism_, was it? - I don't intend to exterminate them because of that. And I don't intend to burst into an abomination and go on the killing rampage, either. So you can stop worrying now," he added.

"I was not worrying. As I said, I would follow your orders, whatever they may be."

"Is that so? Well, that's great, then. Good night, Zev."

Lying on his bunk, he wondered why he felt so guilty.

oOo

He half expected that the werewolves would try something during the night, but nothing happened. They got up very early – it was hard to tell what time it was, deep underground as they were, but it seemed to him he had barely closed his eyes before he had to get up again. Which was wrong… wasn't he supposed to have the last watch? It turned out that Airam didn't wake up anyone, and stayed awake whole night – no wonder he was so grumpy now.

"Oh will you stop it! I can survive one night without sleep, it's not like I sleep more than few hours every night, anyway," he snorted, when they asked for explanation.

"Now, if you've finished blabbering, just eat your breakfast – or even better, take the bread with you and eat it on the way. I want to have a private talk with Zathrian before the werewolves find him."

They didn't need to hurry. The werewolves showed them the shorter way to get to right the big entrance hall at the ground level – and when they got there, they found Zathrian already waiting.

"Well, Warden? Do you have the heart?" He asked, without any greeting. Such terrible manners, quite unfitting for the Keeper.

"I'd like to have a talk with you first."

"About what? Did you not brag that killing Witherfang is an easy task for you? Did you get cold feet after you saw a few wolves? In that case, get out of my way. I will do it myself."

"Killing is always easy, Zathrian," snapped Airam irritably. "I… know what happened. The Lady… Witherfang, she told me. I understand. But you must –"

"_Understand_? Do not try to give me your sympathy! What can you possibly know – why don't you just admit that you are a coward and get out of here! Go find some –"

"_That's enough_. You think you're the only one –" Airam stopped, and took few deep breaths. "Zev, I'd like to have a private talk with Zathrian," he said, ignoring Zathrian's angry protests that there was nothing for them to discuss. "Could you please make sure it _is_ private? Thanks."

_Clever. He really learns quickly. _He didn't say it aloud, of course. "Must you? Things are just getting interesting," he chuckled. "But if you insist, I would recommend going to one of the empty rooms here. And keeping your voice down, of course. Do not worry, I will make sure nobody interrupts you."

Zathrian added few more snarky comments, but in the end, followed Airam to one of the rooms. Alistair, Maker bless him, decently retreated to the other end of the hall, but Morrigan had other plans.

"And where do you think you are going, my lovely friend, hm?"

"Don't play virtuous now, assassin. You want to know what they are talking about just as much as I do."

"True. But this time, our dear leader _ordered_ _me_ to make sure it is private. And I would hate to disappoint him."

"'Tis your problem, not mine," she laughed.

Nice try, but he expected the spell. He had many chances to watch her cast it during battles, after all. He closed the gap between them and grabbed her – or, more precisely, he grabbed the raven into which she turned into.

"Ahh, my dear Morrigan. You really are lovely bird," he chuckled, which earned him deadly glare and an angry peck on his hand. But she didn't transform back.

"Oh, I see. It is because you can not move your wings, am I right? Now then. It seems someone needs a lesson on proper manners, hm? What say you, Alistair? Could you try to find out if we have some extra rope about?"

Alistair still looked stunned, but quickly recovered at the prospect of tying up the witch. They were both kids, these Wardens. A few moments later, the raven was thrashing on the floor, madly trying to free its wings.

"I must admit, my dear witch, I've been dreaming about having you tied up and at my mercy, like this… but in those dreams, you were always human. And naked."

"Maker's breath, Zevran! You dreamed about _that_ with – _Morrigan_?"

"I never said that, Alistair. But perhaps you were, when you came to that conclusion so quickly?"

Did he really think that teasing Alistair was growing old? Well, that was before he saw this new shade of red on his face – red as ripe _pomodoro_. Perhaps he hit a nerve? He must further investigate this. Too much fun to just let it go.

"Which part of her do you think are feathers? Perhaps I should pull one out, to see what she misses after-wards," said Alistair with devious grin.

"You might want to reconsider that. Chances are you wouldn't live long enough to see it."

Of course, he knew the Chantry boy would never do it – even Morrigan seemed to know that, looking more annoyed than angry. Once she calmed down a bit, he gently picked her up again, which earned him even deadlier glare and a more painful peck than before.

"Now, now, Morrigan. It is in your best interest to behave. I have a proposal, if you would like," he said in business-like voice. "If you promise you will not try to spy on Airam and that you will not try to kill me and Alistair, I will release you. Airam is obviously trying to work out a peaceful solution for this mess, so it would not be wise to start fighting here. Can we agree on a truce until we're out of this cursed place?"

She looked at him, still furious, but then nodded in agreement.

"Excellent! When we are back at the camp, you can tie me up and have your evil way with me, I promise," he purred, before untying the rope. In a flash, the witch was back in her human form. Dishevelled, red and furious. Such a marvellous view.

"You're a walking corpse, assassin."

"Am I? Well then, I am glad I at least kept my good looks," he chuckled.

"Don't forget we only have a truce while we're here," she warned him with an unnerving calmness.

"Ah, Morrigan, I am truly looking forward to it. I do not mind being killed by a nice bird… except for a Crow," he laughed, with smug grin on his face.

_I better not sleep or eat anything besides my own stock before she forgives me_. The next few days were going to be interesting.

oOo

It didn't take long before Airam and Zathrian were back. Any comments or questions they might want to make died on their lips at the look on the boy's ashen face – he looked as if someone had drained all life and joy out of him.

"Air… are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Al. Stop staring at me like that. I'm just tired – I guess staying awake whole night wasn't such a brilliant idea, after all."

Airam tried to smile, but not even Alistair was fooled this time. Zathrian didn't look all that well either, now that he looked at him. He was pale and seemed much older than before. But it was obvious that whatever happened between the two of them, neither Airam nor Zathrian wanted to talk about it.

"You should get some rest and a proper meal," suggested Alistair, but Airam shook his head.

"No, I want to end this curse as soon as possible."

"'Twill take longer if you collapse," snapped Morrigan, who looked sincerely worried. Perhaps she had a heart, after all.

"I won't. Look – I'm not able to have a proper argument right now. It would be just a plain row full of dull, unwitty, and possibly hurtful comments. You can try to reprimand me later, all right?"

He chuckled at Zathrian's expression at that comment. What? Extraordinary tasks required extraordinary minds, no?

oOo

"You wanted to talk to me, Spirit? Then talk."

Well. Judging by the vicious tone, Zathrian's mind obviously wasn't extraordinary and this was going to one of those common rows full of dull and hurtful comments.

"Zathrian. You know what I want. Stop the curse. Stop this madness. Those that wronged you are long dead now. These people –"

"People? I see only beasts. Same as their ancestors were. That was the curse: to make them look on the outside like the beasts they were inside. Had bestiality not been in them, they would be immune to your bites!"

"Nobody argues that, Zathrian. They deserved their punishment. But these children do not!"

"They would only change on the surface! Inside, they would remain the same rabid beasts they are now! "

That was finally too much for Airam. "_Zathrian_. Please. Look at those children – look into their eyes and tell me they are to blame for what happened centuries ago! Don't you see? If you don't stop it, you won't be any better than those murderers! You will be worse, in fact. Much worse. And this hate is already destroying your tribe, as well. If you won't do it for the werewolves, do it for your tribe! Aren't you their Keeper? Isn't it your duty to – "

"Don't tell me about my duties, _flat-ear_! Do not pretend you care about us! Should you not need elves to fight and die in the Blight, you would let us die to our curse! You are no better than the _shemlens_!"

"Oh please! Don't try to change this into a _wronged-Dalish-against-evil-outsiders_ discussion! This is not about the Dalish, or _flat-ears_, or _shemlens_! This is about you, _your_ hate and _your_ cruelty! Your hunters are dying as we speak, and you don't give a damn, you would let it happen for something no one besides _you_ and the spirit _you_ created even remembers."

"Do you not want those – murderers to suffer forever?"

Now that was interesting question. Why should Airam want some murderers from several centuries ago to suffer? Unless it meant something else.

"Murderers, yes. But not their descendants of the twentieth generation!"

"That is your opinion. Perhaps you just did not care as much – "

Airam stiffened. "_Say that again. I dare you_."

Zathrian glared at the boy with open hate and scorn. "No wonder you became friends with these beasts so quickly. You are not better than them. Look at you, lecturing me about my duties about Keeper, while you refuse to accept – "

"_That is enough, Zathrian_. You would twist anything to fit your hate, wouldn't you? Tell me what you want, then. Do you want to kill the Lady? You can certainly try, but let me warn you that you will face not only werewolves, but also me and my people Or do you want to kill infected hunters before they turn into beasts? Will you kill them, for your selfishness? Will you be able to live with that?"

There was a ringing silence after that, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the Zathrian's response.

"You want me to forgive them? I cannot. I do not know how. It might be too late for that, now. You were right. There is nothing left inside me but darkness and hate."

That was the last thing he would expect to hear from Zathrian. In fact, Airam was the only one who was not surprised.

"What about you, spirit? If I lift the curse, you will die. Are you not afraid of death?"

"I am not," she replied. "I have lived many years, and experienced much anger, and hate and loneliness; but I have also experienced joy and love – and family. I will gladly give my life, if it will help my clan."

Zathrian bowed his head. "You shame me, spirit. All right. I will do it."

"Is there anything you would need for the ritual? Lyrium, perhaps? We have some stock," offered Airam.

"No. There is no ritual. The only way to end the curse is to kill me, because it is bound to my blood." He quirked an eyebrow at the boy. "Do not tell me you have not guessed."

"I did. But I hoped there might be another way," he admitted quietly, dropping his eyes.

Zathrian studied him for a while. "You are an interesting lad… Do not let this happen to you."

"I'll try." The answer was barely audible, and for a brief moment, he could see behind Airam's mask of the Grey Warden, a fearless leader of the saviours of Ferelden, a powerful mage – and instead he saw a lonely and terrified child.

oOo

It didn't take long, after that. The werewolves said their goodbyes to the Lady, and perhaps he would have been be touched, if he wasn't so worried for his little Warden. Zathrian's lifeless body hit the ground, while the Lady evaporated in thin air, and the curse was broken.

The room was suddenly full of naked, hairy, bearded, dirty and extremely smelly humans, dancing around in joy. Alistair's confused "Maker's sweet ass!" summed it up perfectly, and they had no wish to linger there further, although they were invited for a celebration.

"I am sorry, but I have to decline," said Airam politely, but a bit too quickly for it to be sincere; luckily, such subtlety was still out of their grasp. "But we have to bring the Zathrian's body back to the Dalish for a proper funeral."

When they finally got out, it was almost noon. They were all incredibly hungry, but they didn't want to eat right there in front of the ruins – the ex-werewolves could feel offended, and they didn't want to find out how much of werewolves still remained in them. However, when they finally sat down to eat, Airam started to hurry them again.

"Sorry, pal, but no way. I'm so hungry I could eat you," protested Alistair. "I mean literally," he added quickly when he noticed Zevran's smile.

"Why are you in such hurry anyway? Did we not win? We deserve at least a proper meal," joined Morrigan.

"I know, but can't we celebrate in the Dalish camp? If we hurry up, we can perhaps make it before dinner."

Alistair stared at him, surprised. "No we can't. You know that. And especially not carrying the – carrying Zathrian. What is your problem?"

"Nothing, really. It's just – I ran out of sleeping potions."

"Those nightmares about the Archdemon again? You know, it's rather unusual, so long after the Joining… But I'm sure you can survive one night of bad dreams."

Airam didn't reply.

oOo

"May I join you?"

"Of course. You can not sleep because of bad dreams?"

"No. I didn't sleep at all. I don't want to."

Airam sounded terribly tired, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Something was wrong; this was not the first time Airam was left without the potions, but he never was so desperate before.

"What do you mean?" He asked carefully.

"I don't want to sleep tonight. I… I don't want to scream and wake everyone."

_Nonsense_. They were all pretty much used to it by now, because even with the potions, the dreams would come, and Airam would scream, drenched in cold sweat, until someone, usually Wynne didn't woke him up.

But he didn't say it aloud. "You think it will be worse today? Is it… because of Zathrian? The curse, and his sacrifice – it was all rather stressful." _Is it because of that talk with Zathrian?_ is what he would really like to ask, but he knew better than to pry.

"Yes – no – well, partially."

So it _was_ related to that talk. But Airam didn't sleep the night _before_ that talk… Was it something that the Lady said? About Zathrian?

"Zev. Do you think you could… help me stay awake for a while? Tell me one of your awesome adventures. Please?"

He barely resisted the urge to hug and kiss him, so adorable he was, with those big eyes full of worry. "Even for the whole night, if you wish. I could then brag to Wynne that we spent the night together. She would be thrilled, I am sure."

Airam shook his head. "Please, Zev, don't – not tonight, ok? No lecherous comments, or dirty jokes, no nothing that concerns sex in any way."

Now he was even more confused. Airam never minded little dirty jokes, and sometimes would even join him in teasing Alistair.

"One day I will explain, I promise, but not now. Just help me stay awake, during your watch. You don't have to stay with me the whole night; I don't want you to be exhausted tomorrow as well. Just for a few hours. _Please_."

"Ah, I can survive one night without sleep, it's not like I sleep more than few hours every night, anyway, as a friend of mine once said. To find a story that does not mention sex will be much bigger problem," he chuckled, careful not to show how worried he was. He had never heard such despair in Airam's voice, usually he was the most optimistic and flippant one…

Then he remembered the boy's face after Zathrian's last words to him. _Do not let this happen to you_. Not to let _what_ happen? He had a frustrating feeling that he had missed something, that the solution to this puzzle was already there, right under his nose, but he just couldn't see it.

So they sat together next to the fire, and when Alistair's watch started, he joined as well. Surprised to hear Zevran talk without any lewd comments, he refused to go to sleep, when his watch ended.

"I don't know how you managed that, Air… did you hit him on the head? No? Well I want to see how long it will last," he said.

Morrigan was quite surprised to find them all awake, but she seemed quite pleased. Not that she would ever admit it. She prepared some tea; it tasted grassy and bit bitter, but quite refreshing.

"That's quite good. What is it?" asked Airam, when he took a sip.

"'Tis an old recipe of Flemeth. It helps to keep one awake, when necessary. I always prepare it for my watch."

"And you didn't think of sharing it? How can you be so selfish? Why didn't you tell us?" Alistair shook his head in disbelief.

"You never asked," she snapped.

oOo

When they finally reached the camp, it was almost dark again, and Airam was barely able to walk. So it was Alistair who had to explain everything to Zathrian's first, who was now going to become the new Keeper, while Airam went straight to Wynne. They disappeared in her tent. After a while, she came back alone, and immediately pulled him aside.

"Tell me exactly what happened there, word by word."

"And would you trust what I say? Perhaps you should ask Alistair, no?"

She frowned, crossing her arms. "Now is not time for this, Zevran. Alistair is a good lad, but I need someone who is trained to notice every detail of what is going on. I have to understand what happened, or I will not be able to help Airam."

It was true, of course, and so he described everything he remembered. Wynne gave him a lot of questions – asking about the smallest trivialities, nodding when his answers confirmed her expectations.

"I see. Poor child… Of all the… no wonder he is so shaken," she would mutter, quietly, but she refused to give him any explanations. "It is not my thing to tell," she said. "Maybe he will tell you himself, one day, if he's ready. And I believe I do not have to tell you not to ask. You are sensible enough to know it yourself."

Another frustrating truth, he had to admit. There was no point at being angry with her, so instead, he gave her his shiniest smile. "My dear Wynne! That is the second time you complimented me today! Does it mean I finally managed to charm you? Perhaps we could retreat to my tent – seeing as yours is occupied now –"

"Oh dear Maker," she sighed. "I take back everything I said about you being sensible. Now, get lost, child, before I try some new spells on you. Then you will learn what it really means to be 'charmed'.

oOo

They decided to stay for the Zathrian's funeral, but to move on immediately after that. The new Keeper, Lanaya, seemed to be genuinely disappointed that they would not stay longer, but not all the elves felt like that. Sure, those that were cured when the curse ended were grateful and friendly, but some were secretly accusing them of the Zathrian's death. Lanaya explained she knew that Zathrian was involved with the curse and Airam assured them that the old Keeper died as a hero, but not everyone was convinced.

It was on the evening before their departure, when he was packing his things, when Airam came, almost skipping with joy.

"Zev! I have something for you," he said, handing him something packed in a soft cloth, squirming nervously while he unwrapped it.

"You are giving me… _gloves_? What for?" He asked, a bit more harshly than he intended, and immediately regretted it, when he saw how disappointed Airam looked.

"Oh… so you don't like them? They don't look right? I – I thought, perhaps… I'm sorry,"

It didn't make any sense. Look right? What could be so special – _Maker's breath_. He gasped."They're Dalish? They look almost exactly like those that belonged to my mother."

"Well, that was what I hoped for. So… you like them?" Airam was beaming again.

"More than that. It... means a lot to me. Thank you. But – why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you giving me a present?"

Airam looked at him as if he asked why there was the sun in the sky. "We are friends and I thought you might like it. What other reason could I have?"

"I am sorry. I do not wish to seem ungrateful... Nobody has ever given me a present, before," he admitted.

"_Never?_" Airam sounded appalled.

"No. Small rewards and bribes, or trophies, yes. Real presents, no. Crows forbid that, as a sentimental nonsense."

"You know, these Crows seem to suffer this terrible – what was the word? – so much more than the Dalish…"

"_Boreism_?" He laughed.

"That. They really destroy any fun in life, don't they? After I deal with the Archdemon, I think I'll go to exterminate them. Just warning you."

"In that case, I will gladly join you. And when we are done, I will invite you to the best fish chowder in Antiva."

"Mmm… sounds good. Can't wait. We should get rid of the pesky darkspawn quickly, then," Airam laughed. "So I'd better go pack my things, as well. See you tomorrow, Zev."

For a long time, he just sat there, caressing the gloves. He would treasure them, keep them with him forever… Finally he carefully wrapped them in the cloth again and put them in his pack.

If only it was tomorrow already.

* * *

_Boreism_ - Zev really didn't make it up. More such lovely words can be found at _Save The Words . org_


	10. Dangerous Thing

Thanks to **Brelaina**, my patient Beta.

* * *

**Dangerous Thing**

The journey through the forest back to the main road to Denerim was not as pleasant as the journey there, and it was all Airam's fault.

The being Airam set free in the ruins did not lie, and the boy suddenly knew how to fight with daggers – in theory. But seeing in your mind how something should be done and actually being able to do it were two very different things. He promised to train the crazy kid, but only if he saw an improvement in the basic drills he and Alistair had shown him. And Airam was determined to achieve that as soon as possible. He definitely wasn't complaining about _that_. As a trainer, he was _required_ to watch his trainee closely… and what a view that was...

Unfortunately, it gave their fearless leader the craziest idea so far – that they all needed to improve their skills, so from then on, they were to spend hours in the morning and in the evening training.

"But I'm perfect. What should I train?" he protested, but Airam didn't relent.

"Lock picking, for example. So that the next time you don't, ah, _run out of lock picks_."

"Tsk, tsk. Your suspicion wounds me so. I really ran out of lock picks there."

"As you wish Zev, but next time we come across a chest with complicated lock, you'll have to pick it." He grinned. "But if you can't unlock it – oh, don't worry, I'll make sure you have as many lock picks as necessary – then hmm… let me see… then you'll do all the washing up until we defeat the Archdemon."

He stared at Airam and realised there was no chance to talk him out of it. "You truly want me to spend an hour every evening picking locks? When did you turn into such a tyrant?"

Airam just chuckled, looking very satisfied with himself.

Neither of them were happy about it, but Airam remained adamant. The only ones who didn't have to do any extra training were Shale and Sten. Shale because she was, well, a rock. And Sten didn't even let Airam finish saying what he should train.

"No."

Airam was quite unnerved with that answer. "What do you mean, _no_? Everybody has to improve, including you."

"It would be against the Qun."

"What? Why would be training some new fighting style be against the Qun?"

"My role is to be a swordfighter."

"A _role_?"

"Everyone who follows the Qun has a role. A purpose."

"So you can't learn anything new? That sucks!"

Both Sten and Airam looked equally shocked. The expressions on their faces were hilarious – even Wynne couldn't suppress a giggle. It was understandable, he thought – for someone like Airam, for whom learning new things was actually _a_ _hobby_, it had to seem like the most stupid thing ever; but for Sten, saying such a blatant offence against the Qun was probably the final proof of Airam's ignorance.

"It would be against the Qun," repeated Sten firmly, and that was the end of discussion.

There was no escape for the rest of them. One hour every morning before breaking camp, and one hour every evening after dinner. None of them were exactly thrilled about it, but Morrigan was the worst. She disliked the idea of spending so much time learning complex healing magic – and from Wynne, too – she didn't stop complaining for a whole day.

"Healing magic is useless. 'Tis for weaklings. If you were strong enough to quickly dispose of your enemies, you wouldn't need it at all."

"As you wish, Morrigan. I promise I will not spend my energy on you, next time you are injured," sighed Wynne.

"You can always convert to the Qun," suggested Alistair. "Then you could say being an aggressive unfriendly hag is the purpose of your life."

Had he known how much trouble his next words would cause, he would never have said them. "Ah, I would not recommend that. Tempting as it is, to see our dear friend mute and pacified for a while –"

Everyone stopped and turned to him. "What do you mean, mute and pacified?" demanded Airam, and he immediately knew he shouldn't have brought it up.

"Qunari control their mages even more than the Chantry does," he explained as vaguely as he could.

"Yes, but – mute and pacified? How could they possibly do that?" Airam didn't intend to let it go.

"I am not sure. They use collars… or so I heard."

Airam was not convinced, but didn't push it further. For the rest of the day he was lost in his thoughts, and when they set up camp, Airam immediately retreated into his tent, saying only that he needed to urgently check something. They were just going to call him for dinner, when he stormed out of the tent, holding a big book and marched up to Sten.

"Look at this, Sten. Is this picture correct?" His voice was level, and it seemed he was trying hard to remain calm.

Sten shot just a brief look at the book and averted his eyes again. "Yes."

"It is? You truly do that? You keep your mages like animals, always on a leash? You stitch their lips together, put a visor over their eyes and an anti-magic collar on their neck? Is it true?" Airam's voice was still without any emotion.

"I already answered that."

"And is it true that you call your mages 'dangerous thing"? Is that really what this word… 'sa-reeb-as' means?"

"_Saarebas_. Yes."

"You call them _a thing_? Isn't that bit too extreme?" Alistair got up and took the book from the boy. "Maker! This – that's the cruellest thing I've ever seen."

Morrigan and Leliana moved to see it as well and gasped in horror at the picture. Wynne just closed her eyes and sighed. He didn't need to see it, either – he had seen a few Qunari mages before, in Antiva.

Airam ignored them.

"But you said everyone has a purpose in the Qun. How can you treat your mages like that? How can you block their powers? Isn't it their purpose to be mages and use spells?"

"Their purpose is to use their power when necessary for the common good. But mages are dangerous. They can be infested with demons. They are broken tools and need to be controlled."

"_Tools_? They are living –"

"Every Qunari is a tool, used for the well being of the whole community."

"But mages are _broken_ tools?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they are unnatural."

"Unnatural? I'm _unnatural_? Because I have magic?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it's you who's unnatural. Magic is in everyone, but most people lose their connection to it and can't use it. Still, not using magic is unnatural. What do you say to that?"

"It's against the Qun."

"And it's against the Maker's –" started Leliana, but quickly shut up when Airam turned to glare at her.

"Is that why you don't want to follow me? You're scared of me, because I'm not a mindless puppet on a leash?"

"I follow you."

"Answer me, Sten. Are you afraid of me because I'm not collared and on a leash? Am I also a 'dangerous thing'?"

"Mages are dangerous."

The sound Airam made could have been a hysterical chuckle or a hysterical sob. "What about the rest of you?"

"Magic is dangerous and should be controlled, but this is unnecessarily cruel," said Alistair hesistantly.

Leliana nodded. "I agree. Magic can be dangerous and should be controlled, in order to protect both mages and others, but mages are still the Maker's children, and should be treated with respect…"

Morrigan just laughed. "What is so bad about fools being afraid of us? Let them! We _are_ dangerous and they better not forget it."

"That is a very foolish thing to say, child. Magic should be used to help people, not to threaten them. Mages need to learn to control their powers. If they do and are disciplined, they can do much good."

"'Tis no use to try this Chantry brainwashing on me, Wynne…"

Those two started another one of their arguments about freedom for the mages and the necessity of the Circle; they were too used to that already and just ignored them.

"What about you, Zev? Are you afraid of me?"

"No," he answered immediately. But was it really true? Airam _could_ be scary… he once froze Alistair just because a bit of teasing about his hair… and when he remembered the ruins…

There was a knowing smile on Airam's lips. "If you'll excuse me. I need to be alone for a while." He went back into his tent and didn't come out until it was his turn for his watch.

oOo

He knew he should go to Airam and apologise, but he wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't really scared of Airam, but he was aware of how dangerous the boy could be. But to Airam it would probably sound the same. Sten went to him the very next day and they had a talk, though it was a rather short one. Before he could find some proper excuse to get closer to listen, it was already over. And as Sten never was the communicative type, it was difficult to say if they were on speaking terms again.

That evening, when they set up camp, he went to talk to the boy, but the crazy kid wasn't in his tent. He found him sitting alone under one big tree, covered from the sight of the others, reading one of those big thick books.

"You really shouldn't wander around all alone, Airam. What if there were some enemies nearby?"

Airam didn't even lift his eyes. "Well I'm a monster, right? Chances are they would run away at the mere sight of me. And if not, I can cast some terrible magic on them and send them to oblivion."

"Nobody said you are a monster."

"But you think so. You're scared of me. And don't say it's not true! I'm not an idiot, you know. I noticed it long ago."

"That is not quite true."

"Don't worry about it. It's all right. I'm used to it. People are always afraid of me. It's my looks, or something. I thought perhaps… but never mind. As I said, it's fine. I'm better alone, anyway." Airam still stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the book, but it was clear he was not reading any more and there was a hint of bitter disappointment in his voice.

It made him feel even more guilty. "Please, listen to me. I'm not afraid of you – only when your eyes turn black and there is this menacing aura around you…"

That finally caught Airam's attention. "My eyes turn black?"

"You didn't know about it?"

"This might come as a surprise you, but even mages can't see their own eyes."

He chuckled. "Ah, how cruel of you to destroy my dream and illusions so."

"_Zevran_…"

"No need to glare at me like that, my dear friend. I just assumed you knew about it, yes? When you are really angry, your lovely eyes turn black and there is this terrible icy aura around you."

"When I'm angry…" Airam sighed. "I – I know I have terrible temperament –"

"Very mildly speaking, yes."

"And if you know it, you shouldn't provoke me, right? But I _know_ about it. It is true, I've already lost control a few times, and I did things of which I'm not proud… but I don't regret it, either. Those people I hurt deserved it, they'd deserve ten times more. I have never hurt any friends, any bystanders, or innocents. Neither have I lost control so completely that I wouldn't know what I was doing and killed everyone around me. And I was even tested against Rage, and I _passed_, you know."

Airam looked directly in his eyes. "So why am I bigger threat than you or Sten?"

What Airam said made sense, but still… he couldn't freeze all the people within a perimeter of twenty meters. "You were tested against rage? How?"

"Harrowing. The final test, you know. If you pass, you become a full mage."

"And if you fail?"

"Then you die." Airam chuckled. "The look on your face… Come on, don't tell me it's worse than in the Crows."

"No, but I thought – I did not know – so what is the test about?"

"Well… first, the apprentice is drugged. So he wouldn't put up much of fight in case of trouble. Then he must drink a strong potion, a mixture of lyrium and some other things, I don't know the recipe. It helps him to enter the Fade."

"Like when Jowan saved Connor?"

"Yes, almost. Only with the Harrowing, it's actually the Circle Mages who summon demons. They promise them the living body… if they overwhelm the apprentice. Of course, they don't intend to keep that promise. If the apprentice fails and becomes possessed, the Templars kill his body."

"But why would they do such a thing? Making deals with demons is a bad thing, no?"

"The demons they summon always represent the flaws of the apprentice… those who would be able to offer the strongest temptation. If the apprentice can resist them – which means he can defeat them in a fight – it is assumed he can resist any temptation. Funny thing is, the apprentice doesn't even have a weapon…"

No weapon? The Crows tests were very hard, often cruel, but even the Crows wouldn't require an apprentice to fight a hopeless fight without any weapon. "And yours was rage?"

"In fact, there were three. I guess I'm very flawed person. Sloth, rage, pride."

"_Sloth_? That does not make any sense. You are the least lazy person I have ever seen."

"And yet it was there. But, as you can see, I survived and became a full mage. So there's no need to be so worried – even if I get angry, I'm not going to give in and burst into an abomination."

"Burst into an abomination? That is possible?"

"Were you not in the Tower with us? Didn't you see it?"

"Yes, but you know I don't understand magic at all."

"Then trust _me_. You really don't have to be so afraid. I'm not going to go on a killing rampage any time soon."

"I do trust you… I know you would never hurt me or any of us… but sometimes, when you are angry, your power is so overwhelming I forget it. I am sorry."

Airam laughed at that, softly and bitterly. "No, it's fine. As I said, I'm used to it."

oOo

Later he that evening he couldn't stop thinking about it. He never gave much thought about what the life of mages was like. It was an easy and safe life, he thought – free bed, meals three times a day without having to do anything to deserve it, without having to fight for it; many Crow apprentices wished they had magic and lived in such luxury.

The life of a mage seemed the exact opposite to the life of a Crow. With the Crows, one always had to fight his best if he wanted to survive. Nothing was for free. Now, however, he was ready to admit – even the exact opposite, that the life of mages was just another form of slavery.

Besides, what the boy said was true. He was just as big a threat… no, he was a much bigger threat than Airam. Even though he normally tried to avoid it, there were also innocents among his victims. Sure, most of them were accidents, but there were a few that he had killed deliberately, in order to save his skin. He doubted Airam would do something like that… So what reason, what _right _did he have to treat him with suspicion and distrust?

oOo

Under a thick crown of trees it was easy to forget it was already Solace; when they got out of the forest, the heat struck them like a mallet. It was like walking straight into a heated stove. It was much more terrible than in Antiva, where the air smelled of the sea, where he could always have a _siesta_ for an hour or two during the worst heat and where it was so easy to get some refreshment. Here there was nothing except long miles of dusty road ahead of them.

"Where is Bodahn and his cart when we need it." Alistair was breathing heavily, and it seemed he was going to collapse any moment now. Looking at that heavy metal armour, he was secretly very glad that the Crows trained assassins, not warriors. The poor Chantry boy had to be half baked already in it. No wonder he'd like to hide in the shadow of the cart.

Bodahn had left for Denerim with Jowan and Carroll to sell the goods "collected" during the travels with their group. The Wardens were going to get sixty-five percent of the profit, as they provided involuntary suppliers of the goods – darkspawn, bandits and other fools that tried to attack them. He thought it was still pure robbery from the dwarf's side, but both Airam and Alistair were still too naïve and idealistic to understand that.

But right now it didn't matter; the collapsing Alistair was more important, because he was sure neither Sten nor Shale would be willing to carry him… and as Airam was too weak for it and he was too much of a gentleman to let the women do it, it was quite clear whose task it would be in the end.

"If I may suggest… I think we should set up camp now, and walk after the sun sets down and the temperature drops a bit."

"I agree with the silly assassin," agreed Morrigan. "Unless you want to carry the big oaf after he collapses."

"All right, then. We will set the camp at the first good place. Somewhere near water would be nice… you've got the map, Leli? Is there some water round here?"

"Let me see… yes, but we will have to go off the road… some two miles from here there should be a small lake..."

"But walking in the dark might not be –"

"Ah, my dear Wynne, you worry too much. Should you have problems walking in the dark, I will gladly carry you in my arms, yes?"

Wynne was opening her mouth to say something, but thought better of it – it was clear she was the only one against. So they left the dust of the road; the vision of the lake with cool water inspiring them to pick up pace and they reached the place in surprisingly short time.

Alistair didn't even wait till the tents were propped and quickly took off his armour and jumped into the lake; Leliana soon followed, though in bit more dignified manner. Wynne watched them wistfully for a moment, then decided to let them have free time and went to prepare a late lunch – which was very good news, as she was the best cook of all of them. Alistair called Sten too, but he just said his favourite answer – "No" – and started patrolling in circles, to be sure nobody would creep up on them while they were naked and unarmed.

"Are you coming for a swim, Airam?" he asked hopefully.

This could be a perfect chance to finally make things up. Even after their little talk, Airam kept his distance from everyone – he was as nice and sweet as ever, but he spent all his free time reading. And he had to admit, he was missing their talks, Airam's endless questions and the sound of his laughter.

"I can't swim."

"I could teach you."

"No, thanks. I'm too tired for learning anything now. I'd like to just relax. Perhaps some other time."

"Oh come on Air, it will be fun, stop sulking!" Leliana grabbed his right arm, trying to pull him up. "Alistair, some help, please!"

"What? Wait, no –"Alistair grabbed his left arm. He joined them, grasping the boy's legs, and together they lifted him and took him right into the lake.

"Put me down – _I can't swim!_ – murderers! – no don't, stop, not in my rooooooo-!" The rest of the word was cut off as he hit the water with loud 'splash'. He got up, spluttering and coughing and there was a tense moment when they waited for his reaction – and then relief when he started laughing.

"Damn, you fools. Look at what you've done! You ruined my favourite robes!"

"I will gladly help you take them off, if you wish," he offered with sleazy grin.

"Too late. I'm going to drown you, all of you, you disrespectful murderers… Is this any way to treat your leader?"

"No, but it is the perfect way to treat a sulking, crazy kid," he laughed, which resulted in a short but fierce water fight that left them all breathless.

Morrigan watched them with scornful smirk. "'Tis funny how few minutes in a lake can wash away your remaining brains."

"Yet another disrespectful underling. Al, Zev, as your commander I order you to bring her here, the same way you brought me!"

"It will be my _pleasure_," smirked Alistair, and they immediately got out of the water.

"Don't you _dare, _dimwits! I'm warning you! Stay away from me!"

It was useless, of course. Though truthfully, Morrigan's resistance seemed bit half-hearted – as if she was secretly happy she wasn't left out.

"Excellent! Now that we're all in the same pot, so to say, the real war can start. Mages against the rest of the world!"

"What makes you think I am going to help you, _Warden_?"

"You would rather help Templar, then? I am so disappointed in you."

"Fine! Can I at least drown him?"

"_No!_ Who will carry my books, if you do?"

They didn't stop fooling in the lake until Wynne called them for a lunch. As they were drying themselves – with a bit of help from magic it was rather quick – he realised it was the first time in many years he was completely relaxed, without that constant wariness of potential backstabbing.

"So this is how normal people have fun at the lakes?"

For a moment, he was almost sure it was him who said that, before he realised it was Airam.

"You never did it before?"

"Why are you so surprised? You know we were not allowed to go outside the Tower… too big risk that we would run away and blow up a Chantry or two, or massacre a few villages. And we didn't have any lakes inside."

"So you're still angry about that?"

"I'm not angry, Al. I'm just… fed up with it, you know." Airam sighed and looked away. "It's... I need to know. Are you really afraid that I would hurt you – any of you? If yes… I will… try not to…" Airam gulped and turned away. There was so much hurt and loneliness, and longing somewhere in those words… He recognised it, an echo of his own past.

"And you ask me this after all we went through together? Maker's breath, Air, but you can be really dumb sometimes. I know I said that mages need to be controlled… Mages have power that must be used carefully, but the same is true for Templar, or even Grey Wardens, you know. I didn't mean that I'm afraid of _you_. None of us are. Right?"

Alistair glared at them, as if daring them to disagree, but no one did. He grinned, satisfied, then offered his hand to Airam. "So. Friends again?"

Airam hesitated for a moment. "Only if you wish," he said warily, before accepting it.

"Don't be silly. You're like a little brother to me –"

"What do you mean, _little_ brother? You might be three years older, but mentally, you're five years younger! Everybody knows that."

"So I'm thirteen now? Wow, I'm _amazing_. I'm the youngest Grey Warden _ever_!"

Morrigan scowled. "And you really want to make this fool the king of Ferelden? If you do so, I think I will emigrate."

"That might be actually a reason to look forward to it, you know…"

Leliana giggled. "When will you two admit that you're actually in love with each other?"

He watched those three quarrelling and couldn't suppress a chuckle. Yes, this was how it should be; this was their normal, routine craziness. That afternoon, trainings were real fun, full of friendly teasing and jokes.

It seemed the rest of the trip to Denerim would be much more pleasant.

* * *

Harrowing - it doesn't make sense to me, that all that is needed to send a mage to the Fade is lyrium... wouldn't they travel to the Fade every time they drink a lyrium potion? So I decided there must be something else added...


	11. Scarecrow

And the chapter 11 is finally here. Sorry for long wait, but life is a bitch, as certain assassin likes to say. ^^ Thanks for all the reviews and faves. It really helped to keep me going.

Big thanks to **Brelaina** for betareading this, **Eva Galana** for consultation and **Darkwinter** for brainstorming.

Also, Air's fans: one of my favourite authors,** Enaid Aderyn**, wrote ridiculously awesome oneshot for a CMDA challenge 'meeting of the Wardens from different universes" - where Air meets her Sabhya. You really shouldn't miss it: http:/ www. fanfiction. net/s/7239278/1/Encounters_in_Lspace

* * *

**Scarecrow**

Travelling during the night and resting during the day and avoiding the main road proved to be an excellent idea. The terrain was bit more difficult, but on the other hand, there were no idiotic bandits and raiders. That itself would be worth it, even if their two Wardens could bear the heat.

Because they soon found out that the sun and Airam's milky skin didn't bode well together. While everyone else was slowly getting _tanned,_ the poor boy got fried alive. Two hours without shirt and his back became dark red and covered with blisters. Fever and nausea followed. Wynne spent the rest of the day healing him. He wanted to protect himself by casting a permanent ice aura around himself, but Wynne was against such unnecessary use of energy. Instead, she gave him some balm for his face and hands and decided he had to wear a hat. And _of course_ he didn't have his own so Wynne forced him to wear one of her horrid cowls.

Naturally, it was a permanent source of jokes and teasing. Airam was bearing it bravely, even coming with his own similes of what he looked like. It seemed that his biggest worry was that he would not be able to go to Antiva, as the northern country was even hotter than Ferelden.

"Better think about what we'll do when we reach Denerim," said Wynne one evening for what felt like a thousandth time.

"Why, I told you already, weren't you listening?"

Wynne raised her eyebrows at that cheekiness. "I was, I just don't think your answer was sufficient."

Airam sighed. "But I can't make any plans before I find out what's the situation is. We must find Jon first, he'll take us to Erwin and then we will think of what next."

"That is in fact quite sensible," he said and Airam smiled at him gratefully. "Denerim is Loghain's territory. We should be very careful and avoid being seen. I would be surprised if all the guards didn't already know what our brave Wardens look like and are instructed to kill them on the spot." _And not just guards. The Crows as well._

"Who's this Erwin? You've never mentioned him before," joined Alistair.

"I haven't? He's one of the best mages I know. Used to be a head of Elites, but left the Tower five years ago. He was a friend, sort of. I really missed him, life was much more dull without him around. Irving recommended I go to him, seems he became rather a name in Denerim, but I'd go see him anyway."

"I still think we should go to the Magister Cimexe instead…"

"Bedbug?" Snarled Airam. "I hoped he was in the Tower during Uldred's rebellion."

"_Warden!_" Wynne was absolutely mortified.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. But that guy is the worst elf-hater I've ever seen."

Wynne scowled. "Don't be so childish. I know he can be strict, but that's no reason to say something like that."

"_Can be strict?_" Airam stopped and turned to her, surprised and angry. "With all due respect, Gran, you don't know what you're talking about. He…" Closing his eyes, he took deep breath. "Whatever. It's all history now. I'm not going to discuss it. We're going to Erwin."

Wynne frowned, but didn't press the matter, and they didn't discuss it any more. But their stay in Denerim was not going to be boring – that much was clear already.

And if his formers comrades in arms decided to make problems too... The Crows must have found out about his betrayal long ago – and Denerim was the perfect place for trying to remove both him and the Wardens. Not only were there a lot of nice dark alleys and dirty inns, but also a lot of hungry beggars who wold gladly sell them out for a few coins. They should choose where they stay very carefully – big inns would be monitored by guards, small ones by Crows. He should plan this with Leliana. No need to worry his little Warden just yet, but they should have a plan...

oOo

Two nights marches later, they reached Gavrenham, the outskirts of Denerim. It was still two hours before sunrise, but it was already bustling with life, with travellers grouping in front of the gates, waiting to be let into the town. Many of them were refugees from bannorns occupied by darkspawn, hoping to start new life there. Others were merchants, swindlers and different charlatans that saw it as a perfect opportunity to get some coin. There were drunkards, beggars, whores – everything you could expect from such busy place during small hours.

He stopped and drew deep breath. "Ah, this smells almost like home."

Wynne and Leliana were disgusted, but Airam's eyes shone with interest. "Amazing! Is it going to be like this also in Denerim?"

"In certain parts and at certain time, yes, of course," he chuckled, but under Wynne's stare he quickly added "I would not suggest to go exploring it, however. It would just mean trouble."

"Oh." The crazy kid sounded disappointed.

"Ah, don't worry, there will be still enough fun," he offered helpfully.

"We are not here for fun," grumbled Sten in an annoyed voice.

"I suggest we have some rest in one of those inns and enter the town in the late afternoon," suggested Leliana, yawning. "Me and Zevran can…" She stopped as a child, a boy ten years old or so, approached them.

"Yes, child?"

"We don't have any money for you," snarled Morrigan. "So just get lost before I turn you into a toad."

"Message for you, serah Warden," said the child, giving Airam a note and bolting away immediately.

"Wait!" He turned to follow him, but Airam stopped him.

"It's all right, Zev. Better find an inn called the _Silent Lady_." He grinned at the note, fondly. "I don't know how or why, but Erwin is waiting for us there."

oOo

The_ Silent Lady_ was small, dirty, and the kind of place where nobody looks at you twice, and where guards never went, if they could help it. This could be a trap. But the crazy kid, as usual, didn't stop for a moment to consider it. Better be ready. On the other hand, if this wasn't a trap, then that Erwin guy was more clever than he'd expect from a mage.

"And he couldn't find a _dirtier _place? I'm sure he'd find one, if he looked _really_ hard," snorted Alistair, and Wynne agreed.

"Don't touch anything. I doubt they've heard of cleaning here and the last thing we need is to get icterus."

Leliana was already talking to the proprietor, who nodded and waved to them to follow him. Hands on his daggers, he walked right behind Airam, just in case. The proprietor took them to the back of the inn, shot few careful glances around, then moved part of the wall.

"Get in, Wardens, and keep quiet," he whispered.

It seemed everyone here knew what they were; he didn't like it at all. But their crazy little leader had already walked in. Cursing below his breath, he followed him.

The proprietor took them into what looked like a small, dimly lit storeroom, with lots of shelves lining the walls. There didn't seem to be any other exit, besides the door. He looked around anxiously – should an enemy appear here, it would be very difficult to fight.

"I don't like this, Airam. How can you be so sure this note is from that friend of yours?" Leliana's words echoed his own worries.

"Because of the… wording he used," said the crazy kid evasively. He sneaked behind him and pulled the note from the boy's pocket. The poor kid didn't even notice until he tried to read it.

"_Haedus_ - what language is that?"

"It's Arcanum, and it give it back, you thief," Airam sounded both angry and amused.

He was just going to say something witty, when he heard some movement in the corridor. He pulled out his daggers, melting into the shadows. The others, alarmed by his behaviour, quickly readied their weapons again. A moment later, the door quietly opened.

The man that entered was a mage, judging by the staff on his back, but dressed like a noble; approximately his age, a bit taller than Alistair; what the colour of his hair and eyes were couldn't be told in the dim light.

"Erwin!" Airam made few steps forward, but then stopped, a bit embarrassed and reached his hand. The man didn't have any such restrictions, and quickly closed the distance between them gave Airam a bear hug.

"You used to be bigger," said Airam with wide grin, when the man finally let him go.

"And you used to be much cuter," laughed Erwin.

He couldn't resist it. "What, even more than he is now?"

Erwin grinned. "You must be the elf assassin, right? Erm – Zevran Arainai, was it?" He asked. "Jowan told me about you, _each_ of you," he explained when he saw their surprise.

"But there will be time to talk later. We've got to get you out of here first. Our beloved regent will hear about your arrival soon – if he hasn't already."

He closed the door behind him, and walked to the shelves. He put his hand on some spot and quietly muttered some spell. The shelf vanished; a small door appeared in its place.

Airam whistled. "An illusion spell? _Awesome_. You have to tell me how –"

"Yes, yes, _later_." Erwin took out a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and nodded to it. "Now get in there, quickly, before someone pops in. Carefully, there are steep steps."

It was good they were warned; it was more a steep ladder than flight of stairs. Erwin summoned a ball of light and then quickly lead them through a long tunnel. They were walking for at least one hour, when he finally stopped in front of what looked like a dead end. He cast the same spell as before, and a moment later they were in a cellar, where a group of people were already waiting for them. One of them was a familiar dark bloodmage, with broad smile on his face.

"Jon!"

"Glad to see you're still in one piece, my Warden._"_

For some reason it irritated him to no end, when he heard Jowan say that. Ridiculous. Why should he care? It's not as if he had any claim on the crazy kid. They were… friends, yes. Yes, he could accept that now. But nothing else. So why did he have this desire to throw the blood mage into that corridor, lock the door behind him and throw away the key?

They were quickly relieved of their backpacks and lead out and upstairs, into a very pleasant looking hall, and then further into a big saloon full of sofas and armchairs and soft cushions. They were seated there and served light food, sandwiches, salads, fruit – and very nice white wine, the best he had since he left Antiva. He made a mental note to ask what brand it was; he wouldn't have believed he would find something that good in Ferelden.

For a while, they were too busy eating and drinking for a talk, and Erwin and Jowan just sat there, quietly discussing something between themselves.

"Satisfied? Would you like anything else?" Asked Erwin, when they finally finished.

"Weeell… there were no cookies," said Airam accusingly.

Erwin raised an eyebrow at him. "For _breakfast_?"

"It's _dinner_ for me. But I'll let it pass, today," said the crazy kid haughtily.

"Well then, in that case I guess we should –"

"Take a bath and go to sleep?" Suggested Airam.

"I fully support that one," Leliana yawned like a cat.

"A sensible decision at last," agreed Morrigan.

Jowan chuckled, but Erwin stared at them in disbelief, though his lips were twitching. "Amazing. I have to wonder how you came this far…"

"By foot," snapped Airam. "During the night. Which explains why we're tired. So unless you want to say that the Archdemon is in Denerim, it can wait."

"If it was already here, it would be too late anyway," joined Alistair.

"All right, all right, I give up. Everything's ready, don't worry." He pulled a rope near the fireplace and almost immediately a group of servants appeared. They took them to their rooms; and he was very pleased to find that Airam's room was right next door to his.

As promised, a bath was ready for him, but he was too tired and just scrubbed himself as quickly as possible, and threw himself onto the bed. He was awake just long enough to appreciate how comfortable it was and the soft fragrance of the sheets, before falling asleep.

oOo

Someone stopped in front of the door, someone wanted to get in. _The Crows_, he thought, they _found me already_. He quickly rolled out of the bed, grabbing his dagger from below the cushion, ready to throw it the moment the door opened.

He watched the door slowly open. How could the Crows possibly find him here so soon? He hesitated and lowered the dagger – which was good, because the next second the door finally opened, and in walked not a Crow, but Airam, holding a lot of packages.

"Ah, you're awake, pity, I hoped..." he began, but then stopped, looking at the dagger in his hand. "Is something wrong?"

"What? Of course not... oh, you mean the dagger... I was just practicing some moves, that's all." He put it away, unwilling to think about what had almost happened.

"Right." Airam didn't sound convinced. He dropped the packages on the bed, then sat down next to them. "You're afraid of the Crows, aren't you? You're afraid they'll use our stay in Denerim to hunt you down."

He grinned. Was he really so readable? "A bit, yes," he admitted, as there was no sense in denying it. "As should you. The contract on you is still valid, if I may remind you."

"I know. I'm not completely crazy, you know. But you really don't need to worry so much. We're safe here. I can't imagine a fool that would try to break in into Erwin's mansion... and I'm not going to let _any_ evil birds hurt one of my friends. Not pigeons and definitely not Crows."

This time he laughed out loud. "Pigeons?"

"You're not the only one with bird problem here. Shale is worried that a big city like this will be all but swarmed by them."

_His eyes are so beautiful like this, sparkling with joy and_ – he pushed that thought away. It was true, but he couldn't allow himself to -

"Zev? Are you all right?" Airam's voice was a bit worried now and he realised that he was _staring _at the boy's face.

He laughed again, trying to sound normal. "Yes, I am sorry. I was just thinking – about the Crows... But now I am more interested in why you were trying to sneak into my room while I was sleeping. If there is anything you wish to see, you only have to ask, you know that," he purred.

"Hm? What's so interesting in seeing you snoring?"

"I do _not_ snore."

"And how would you know?" Airam laughed. "No, I just brought some things. This big one... and these three, it's the new armor. Made of the skin of that dragon that almost ate me. Arl Eamon had it done. Isn't it good that dragons are so big? They made four sets of it..."

He quickly unpacked it and ran his fingers greedily over the magnificent leather armor; it was truly a masterpiece, one like he never saw before, embedded with lyrium and runes and beautifully decorated; whoever did this was not only a master smith, but had the soul of a poet, too.

Airam watched him with amusement for a while, then he got up. "All right, then. I'll leave you so you can try it on. We're expected for a dinner within an hour, and then we'll have the war council. Erwin wants to discuss our plans and future steps..."

"Wait. There's one more package."

"Ah, that's... just a little gift from me."

Curious to see what it was and why his little Warden suddenly seemed so nervous, he unwrapped the package. He gasped. There was a big lump in his throat as he looked up at Airam again.

"For _me_?"

"_Who else_ would be interested in Antivan boots?"

"But – how? Where did you find these? When?"

Airam chuckled, obviously very satisfied with the effect his present had. "I didn't find them. I found only a pack of leather, back in Haven – you remember that charming village, right? And when Jowan left, I gave it to him, together with those old boots you gave me, and ordered him to find the best bootmaker in Denerim. So you like them?"

"Do I like them? My dear friend, they are marvelous!"

He pressed them to his face, breathing in the familiar smell. They were truly exquisite; not like those in Antiva, those were more ornamented, lighter, just for show, while these were made by a practical Fereldan, boots that would last for years no matter where he was wearing them. And, he had to admit, though it surprised him – he started to appreciate that practicality more than Antivan décor.

"May I try them on?" He asked, almost piously.

"Yes, _p__lease_."

They fitted perfectly. He grinned, remembering that evening in Redcliffe when the crazy kid asked him if he could keep his old boots. It seemed suspicious then, but not in his wildest dreams would he expect something like this.

"This, this is the best thing – nobody has ever done something like this for me. I... thank you."

The crazy kid shook his head. "No, I thank you, Zev. This is just a small thing..."

"Thank me? For what?" _For almost killing you few minutes ago?_ The idea made his heart skip a beat.

"For making life more bearable," said Airam and for a second there was something in his eyes... but before he could recognize it, it was gone. "I really have to go now. Don't be late for lunch – remember there will be two hungry Grey Wardens. There won't be anything left, if you're late."

oOo

This Erwin guy was really quite clever – he really knew how the world turned. He explained what needed to be done with great patience. Neither Alistair nor Airam liked what they heard; their usually fearless leader looked like an embarrassed child.

"You can't be serious! Me, going to negotiate with nobles about sponsoring my army? What army, anyway? Lanaya is gathering elves, but I have no idea where they might be now; Arl Eamon has half the regiment; and now you tell me it's going to be more complicated with the mages, because some of them support Loghain!"

"And that is exactly why it's time to take it seriously," snapped Erwin. "If I understood it correctly, the Archdemon can appear at any moment. I will help you, but you're the Commander of the Grey. You're at the center of it, you and His Highness - "

"Please don't call me that," muttered Alistair, red as beet, but the mage ignored him.

"- whether you like it or not. People must realize the real danger, and you're the ones who has to do that."

"But I'm an elf! The nobles won't listen to me!"

"They will. You already have support of the Arl Eamon, that's a big help."

"Yes, but only because we saved his life."

"Only?" Erwin was rather irritated and frustrated by now. "Is he always dumb like this?" He asked Leliana.

"In some things, yes," she grinned.

"Look. You saved his life – that alone was enough to win you the support of his partners and relatives – and you know nobility, they are all related to each other. But you also ensured the testimony of the man hired to kill him, that was very clever move."

"It was?" Airam sounded genuinely surprised and Erwin laughed.

"Yes, even if you did it only to save your friend. I forgot to mention that part to the nobles, you know. So as long as you don't brag that you're best friends forever, they will remain impressed."

"See, Alistair! It was clever and impressive! Aren't you glad I didn't turn him over to Greagoir now?"

Jowan squirmed uncomfortably on his chair, casting a quick glance at Alistair. "Yes, yes, of course," muttered Alistair, who looked equally uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, I know you don't have any experience with finance. Took me a while to learn about it... and then I hired an accountant. All you have to do is meet with nobles and describe in most gruesome details what the darkspawn will do to them – and more importantly, to their property – if the Blight is not stopped. Some Banns, especially from the south, will support you."

Airam didn't seem any less worried. "But I don't have proper manners... "

"Perhaps Leliana can give a few lessons also to you?" Suggested Alistar innocently.

"No need," said Erwin, grinning. "His task will be to look like a soldier, rugged and stern..."

They all burst into laughing. Airam, _rugged_?

"There. See how well that would work?" The boy laughed, but sounded a bit embarrassed. It made him feel somehow... guilty. Their little leader didn't deserve this, even if Erwin was his friend.

"Ah, but you do not need that, my dear friend," he said. "Just act like your usual haughty self, yes? If they bother you, just give them one of those royal glares of yours... I'm pretty sure you could scare them off even better then a Crow Master with that."

Erwin chuckled. "Royal glares? So you've been practicing?"

"Practicing? You've been actually practicing it?"

"Yes, well, what else can a little elf do against bullies? All right, all right, I give up. Not that I have any chance, anyway. So when does this torture start?"

"Tomorrow, you're invited for a lunch."

"Who wants to go out?" Airam got up and stretched his arms. "Never thought I'd say this, but I need a walk. All this sitting is making me stiff."

They agreed and got up, but Erwin stopped them again. "Wait. I don't know if you realized it, but it's rather late already. Better leave it for tomorrow. All the shops and interesting places are already closed, anyway."

Airam was disappointed, but complied.

"But even tomorrow, you can't go all together. I don't know if anyone told you, but you're rather... eye-catching company. Especially when you're all together. Split into groups of two or three, don't go anywhere near the noble quarters, stick to the market and docks – merchants are your friends, remember that. The Blight is a loss-making business, so they want to see it over, and Loghain is doing nothing... And if I may suggest, leave your golem here. I doubt you will need it."

Shale glared at the mage with pure hate, then turned to Airam. "It isn't going to leave me with another mage, is it?"

"It – it spoke! Did you give it a command to speak? I didn't see it! You don't even hold the rod!"

"No, Shale, wait, don't squish him yet! That's right, Shale joined us only after we left Redcliffe, so Jowan wouldn't know. Let me introduce you properly, then. Shale, this is my friend Erwin McLam, and even though he's a mage, he's perfectly safe and he didn't mean to insult you at all. Isn't that right, Erwin?"

"What – of course, of course!" Erwin looked bewildered. "But how -?"

"Erwin, this is Shale of Honnleath. Her previous master was a mage and a total jerk. He was doing experiments on demons, trying to fuse them with living creatures... a jerk, as I said, who fully deserved to be squished – yes, Wynne, he did, don't give me that look. But the, ah, aftershock? I guess we can call it that, of the deed made Shale paralyzed. Conscious, but unable to move. When we came and used the rod, she regained her free will and agreed to help me with the Blight. Oh, and she doesn't like mages much. And pigeons."

"Yes, pigeons are such annoying dirty creatures, aren't they? I can't stand them more than rats, myself."

He couldn't say if Erwin was serious or if he only said that to win Shale's good graces, but it apparently worked, and Shale agreed to stay in the mansion.

Leliana said she wanted to visit the Chantry, and Wynne decided to join her. Alistair also had some private business, he said he wanted to check on someone he knew. Sten was appointed as his bodyguard. Morrigan said she wasn't interested in sightseeing, that all there was to be seen was a lot of dirty people.

And that left him, Airam and Rask. Well, he definitely wasn't going to protest. He also decided he should try to find a nice gift for Airam.

So it was easy to decide where to go first – the market place. Though it would also be dangerous. In the big crowds like this, it might seem that nobody looked at you twice, but he knew too well how treacherous that was. If any Crows noticed him or Airam, it would give them a perfect opportunity. He would have to be very careful, but he thought he could manage it.

Erwin gave Airam some lotion that would protect his skin – a gift for the Warden from someone equally pale, he explained. It was hard to believe that there was anyone with such milky-white skin as the boy, but he didn't ask.

oOo

The next day they got up at dawn, and after a very brief breakfast they left for the market.

It was fun watching Airam, how excited and amazed with everything he was. It was so obvious this was the first time he was in the town. And the Denerim market was perhaps not as glorious as in his beautiful Antiva, but it was big, and full of all possible goods: food and living stock, especially pigs, all kinds of household items, tools and weapons, clothes, miraculous tinctures, and Maker knew what else. Good thing they were together. He was pretty sure that if the boy was left alone, he would spend his money on things like cotton candy - which fascinated him to no ends, and they spent more than ten minutes just watching the guy spinning it. And then he would get lost and before the evening Denerim would be full of ice statues of foolish bandits that would try to rob him. He softly chuckled at the image.

And then he saw him.

And the man saw _him_.

For a second they glared at each other. Even at that distance he could see the confident smirk on the man's face. Then the man turned and vanished in the crowd.

"That was one of them, wasn't it?" Asked Airam softly. He looked at the boy, whose expression was serious now, like when they were in the battle.

"Yes. That was Ignacio, a Crow Master. Senior Master, even. I had no idea he was in Denerim."

"Is that bad?"

"Very bad. He's one of the worst Masters I know. If he's here, it means he's leading the Denerim cell."

"Do you think he'll try anything, I mean today? Now?"

He thought about it for a while. "No, I do not think so. We only saw him because he _wanted_ us to see him. Why that might be, I do not know. But if he wanted to attack us, we would not notice him before we had dagger stuck in our chest, of that I'm sure."

Airam nodded. "Then let's walk around for a while, and then we'll slowly go back. Running away would only attract more attention to us. And I don't want them to think we're scared of them."

That wasn't a bad idea. They continued to walk around the market, checking different goods, but it wasn't half the fun any more. Brasca. His former comrades really had to destroy everything. Then, after a quarter of an hour or so, just when they wanted to return back, a little boy ran into them.

"Message for you, Ser."

This time he was ready and grabbed the kid's arm before he could bolt away. "Stay quiet, kid, or I'll feed to you to that mabari."

Rask growled at him in pure disgust, _Eat him yourself, if you wish, I don't eat humans_, but it looked sufficiently threatening to the kid.

Airam read the note and looked at the kid. "You're going to take back a reply. You will say, 'in half an hour'. Is that clear?"

The kid nodded. "Yes, Ser. In half an hour. Will be done. Can I go now?"

He let him go, and the boy ran away immediately, but he didn't care any more. "In half an hour?" He asked. Airam gave him the notice and he read it.

'Warden, if you are interested in Antivan business, meet me in the Gnawed Noble Tavern today at eleven p.m.' - he cursed under his breath and dragged the boy into the nearest side alley and slammed him into a wall.

"And you sent back the message you want to meet in half an hour? Are you crazy?"

"Why? I'm curious what this is about. Aren't you?" Airam didn't look scared at all.

"You're aware that _you_ are this 'Antivan business', yes? This is probably a trap."

"No, I don't think so. If he wanted me dead, why send a messenger? There is something he wants from me and I want to know what it is."

"Forget it. We're going back, now."

Airam glared at him and pushed him aside. "If you're too much of a coward, Zev, I'll go by myself. Go and run back home, and tremble in fear for the rest of your life, if you wish. But I'm going."

He hit the wall, barely suppressing the urge to shake the boy. "This is not about courage! He is a Senior Master! You have no idea..." He stopped, frustrated. "Don't go there, Airam, _please,_" he begged quietly after a while. _I do not want to lose you, as well_.

"And I am a _saarebas_, remember? A dangerous thing?"

Their eyes met. "I remember you disagreed with that, you said you were not dangerous."

"Generally speaking, no, I'm not. But I've never said I'm not dangerous for someone who threatens my friends."

"Airam, please. Let's go back to the Erwin's house. You need to get ready for that lunch with the nobles, no?"

"I made my decision, Zev, and I'm not taking it back. Are you with me or not?"

Stubborn fool. It would be easier to poison the crazy kid somehow and drag him home unconscious. It would hurt and the boy would hate him for it, but at least they would be both alive.

"And don't even think about it."

He looked at the boy, surprised. "About what?"

"About whatever it is you want to do to me that makes your eyes gleam like that. You think I haven't seen that look before? Especially on Greagoir."

He laughed and threw up his hands in defense. "All right. As you wish. Let's go to find that tavern, yes?" There was a slight chance that Ignacio wouldn't want to play according to someones rules. It was very slight chance, but he could still hope, no?

oOo

Apparently, Ignacio was not as proud as he hoped. When they reached the Gnawed Noble Tavern, they were already expected. Oh well. Hopefully they would survive this somehow. They were directed to one of the back rooms. He was almost as nervous as when he was assigned to his first solo job. That was the Rivaini prince... Unfortunately, this one would not be so pleasant.

There were only four lower rank Crows with Ignacio. His mood improved immediately. Of course, Ignacio himself was worth more than ten such rookies, but still, it increased their chance to survive.

"Warden. I see you received my message. Perhaps we have some things of common interest," drawled Ignacio in that annoying drowsy voice.

"As long as you do not try anything. I hope this is not a trap," he cut in, before Airam could say anything.

"Zevran, is it? You are Taliesen's responsibility, whoreson. Other Crows might want to kill you. For me, you are already dead."

Taliesen's responsibility? So it was Taliesen who was sent after him. He should have expected that. But still... _Taliesen_... But there would be time to think about Taliesen later. Now he must focus on keeping his little Warden alive, yes?

"Please, let's keep this civil," said Airam pleasantly. "So what it is you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, seeing as you proved to be quite resourceful, I thought you might be interested in business with the Crows."

Airam laughed. "You want to hire _me_ to do your dirty jobs? Am I to believe I'm not your mark any more, then?"

"I have to point out that you were never my mark, Warden. Another was hired for that task, and failed. Badly." Ignacio didn't look at him or change the tone of his voice, and yet his contempt for a 'whoreson' that failed the mission and didn't even have enough dignity to die was clear to all of them. But before he could react on it, Airam cut in.

"And if I do this job for you, will the Crows leave me and my men alone?"

"I cannot promise that. The contract on you is still valid. But should the Master that concluded it ask for more help, maybe he will meet only silence. Provided you help us, of course."

"So what it is you want me to do and what can I expect for it?"

"Well... I will give you a scroll and should you read it, you will find a name there. If you then hear of an accident that suddenly happened to that person, come and inform me about it, and I will give you good coin."

"That's it?" Airam stared at Ignacio as if he just fell off the moon. "Wait, wait. Let me see if I got it right. I'm still one of your marks, but maybe you will not personally help to kill me. Maybe. If I turn into your obedient lapdog and do your killings for you. Right?"

His insides turned into ice as surely as if Airam cast a spell on him. Why did this crazy kid always chose the worst people for his cheekiness?

"Does that mean you're not interested?" Asked Ignacio rather stiffly.

Airam laughed. "If that's all you've got to offer."

"Then our business is finished. I wish you good luck, Warden. You will need it." Ignacio moved towards the door, clearly wanting to leave. It seemed they would get out of here alive, after all. Good. Good. When they are alone, he would have to explain a few things to the crazy kid, about not provoking the enemy when you're in a clear disadvantage...

But the crazy kid had other plans. "You know, Zev, I'm so disappointed. The Crows are nothing special really, are they?"

Ignacio's shoulders stiffened a bit, but he continued to the door, and was about to open it - only he couldn't. The handle was covered in the block of ice. Ignacio's four rookies immediately pulled out their weapons.

_Brasca. _He quickly assessed the situation. Best to get rid of those four first, then focus on Ignacio. If Airam can freeze him -

Ignacio raised his hand. "Aspettare." The four sheathed their weapons again, but remained ready. So did he.

"I do not wish to fight, Warden."

"Neither do I. But as you were so rude to leave in the middle of conversation, I had no other choice."

"Our conversation is over. There is nothing to discuss any more."

"No, _your_ part of conversation is over. You aren't really so stupid to think I came only to listen to your pathetic offer?"

He must give it to the crazy kid – he was impressive. He didn't even as much as blink under Ignacio's stare, holding his head up, like some elven prince of old tales.

"... _vecchio pazzo_," he heard Ignacio mutter softly, but it didn't make any sense. His little Warden was perhaps quite crazy, but he definitely wasn't _old_.

The Crow Master waved his hand and the four guys obediently retreated to the other end of the room.

"All right, Warden. I am listening."

* * *

_aspettare_: wait

_vecchio pazzo_: old lunatic


	12. Thirty Silver

A short chapter, because I decided to keep it focused on Zev.

Frackington- fitzFforthwright's _Discourse __on the Nature of the Unnatural _is a book that Airam discussed with Sabhya in Enaid Aderyn's _Encounters in L's space_. That book became part of my 'canon' the moment I read about it. :D

Thanks awesome **Brelaina** for beta-reading this.

* * *

**Thirty Silver**

On the way back to the Erwin's estate he kept determinedly silent. The crazy kid was trying to talk, to joke about how everything went smoothly, but he didn't reply, or even look at the boy. It was a real miracle that they survived. Ignacio was on the brink of murdering them at least three times. But did the crazy kid notice? Of course not.

They were already in the yard, when Airam stopped. He made a few more steps, but the boy didn't move. Unwillingly and more than a bit irritated, he turned back and raised his eyebrows in question.

Airam frowned and crossed his hands on his chest. "So that's it? You're not going to talk to me any more? You made your point, you're angry, fine, I get it. But this is really getting on my nerves. You're acting like a silly child."

"Oh?_ I_ am acting like a silly child?" Unbelievable. This kid was really impossible. "I am only wondering at the miracle that we are still alive."

"Why wouldn't we be? If Ignacio wanted us dead, he wouldn't have sent the note, right? You said so yourself. He wanted to talk and I obliged. Why is it so bad that I asked for the same thing?"

"Because you had nothing real to discuss with him. You are in a company of one of Antiva's most notorious assassins, who happens to be extremely pissed of at you and you start to discuss _Antivan export_ _and_ _taxes_? Where did you even hear about that?"

"I –"

"When I said he was notorious, I did not mean for his patience and kindness! He could have changed his mind at any moment! He almost did, you managed to bring him to the edge at least three times! And what would you do then, hm?"

"Yes, well, _he_ _didn't_! And I knew he wouldn't. I don't pretend to understand what's going on here, but for some reason the Crows in Denerim decided not to help in the assassination of the Wardens, but rather to cooperate with them. Don't you think there must be something more to it?"

What Airam said made sense. In fact, he had been thinking about it during the whole time with Ignacio. But that didn't mean that what the crazy kid did was a clever thing.

"It was still a terrible gamble."

Airam just shrugged. "No risk no gain. And besides, what would you have me do, just stand there and let him treat me like a brat that comes and goes at his call? Or insult my friend, right there in front of me? I'll be damned if I ever let anyone get away with that."

"I was not offended. What he said was true. I am a whoreson and a runaway slave, nothing more. You do not need to risk your life because of me, _Warden_."

The boy flinched as if he hit him. He was being unfair, and the most ungrateful bastard in Ferelden, but if it would keep his boy alive, then it was worth it. "You have a responsibility towards the whole country, no? If you died today, the consequences would be -"

"You sound like Gran. Fine, do as you wish, keep sulking for the rest of your life, I don't care. Just leave me alone. I'm sick and tired of all this." Airam turned and walked away.

oOo

He watched him leave, part of him wanting to run after him and apologize, but he was still angry. _Why do I even care? I'm an assassin. It's not wise to get attached to one crazy kid, no matter how adorable he is. If he wants to get himself killed, it's entirely his own business. _ Yes, yes of course. He knew that. He kept reminding himself of that for the last few months. Not that it had any effect. Try as he might, he couldn't get the crazy kid out of his mind and heart.

He snorted. _Forget about Wynne, I'm starting to sound like __**Leliana**_.

Cursing under his breath, he turned and walked away. They were supposed to leave for that lunch in about one hour, but surely they would not need _him_ there. He was neither a Warden nor noble. He… needed to be alone, to think about it in peace, somewhere where he couldn't see that crazy kid and his lovely eyes – there he was acting like Leliana again. This had to stop. It was ridiculous. Worse – it was dangerous.

Half an hour later, he found what he was looking for. Back alley, reeking of piss, vomit and stale wine. And an inn. There was a sign, hanging over the door, but it was so rusted and dirty it was impossible to read the name. This should be perfect. He took a deep breath as he stepped in. It was so dirty that The Silent Lady seemed like a clean and cosy place in comparison. Several guys gave him a long, suspecting glance – in his new, clean clothes he looked terribly out of place here. And yet he belonged here much more than at the castles. These people – not really evil, perhaps, but hungry enough to murder you for a silver – were more appropriate company for the likes of him, not princes or Wardens.

Perhaps it was time to back away. The Crows thought he was with the Wardens and it seemed the Denerim cell wanted to avoid any trouble with them. It should give him enough time to disappear. He could board the ship to Rivaini... and then perhaps continue out of Thedas.

A handsome young elf was watching him carefully, with a lascivious smile on his lips. He smiled back and the elf came to his table.

"May I join you, Ser? You seem so lonely," he said.

Pathetic. These Fereldans. He was quite sure that he was better at seduction even when he was fifteen. Then again... this one probably wasn't much older.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"Eighteen, Ser." The boy attempted a seductive smile, but failed miserably.

"Don't call me that," he said sternly.

"As you wish... What should I call you, then?"

"You don't have to call me anything. How much do you want?"

The young whore hesitated, obviously a bit scarred by his stern voice. "Fifteen silver for head, thirty for everything," he said hesitantly.

"Follow me."

The young elf tensed up at that, but obediently followed him out and further back into the alley. Only when he slammed the boy into a wall did he realized they could have used a room in the inn. Not that it would be much cleaner than here.

The boy stared at him with eyes full of fear – but also determination. Big eyes, quite lovely. Except they were watery-blue. And his/the ears were definitely too long. And the skin was too dark. Pale, yes. But not enough.

_What am I doing here? With a boy who's not even a real whore? And why does it matter to me? Why can't I just take him and then leave? What does it matter, what colour __his eyes or hair are? _

Frustrated, he slammed his fist into the wall. The boy was now shaking with fear, probably thinking that he was some kind of dirty pervert who enjoyed hurting young whores. He took off the pouch from his belt. There wasn't much money in there, in total maybe three sovereigns; he learnt ages ago that it wasn't wise to take out the real pouch with all of your money every time you wanted to buy a beer. He should say that to his – _why_ was he thinking of him again?

Frustrated, he gave the whole pouch to the whore who eyed it suspiciously, as if it was some lethal poison.

"Get lost."

He watched the boy running away as quickly as possible and sighed. Not only had he'd gone soft, but apparently his charm was gone, too. One angry, the other scared. Both running away from him. What a day.

oOo

A warm breeze smelling of sea, the sun shining on his face through the thick branches, the sound of the waves. With his eyes closed, it was almost perfect. He could almost pretend he was back home in Antiva.

But was it home? What did it matter, that the sea was much warmer and that the beaches had golden sand, soft and cool under feet, when there was no one to share it with? The only person he cared about in Antiva was long dead. Any time he thought about Antiva, he was thinking of death; death that he suffered and death that he caused.

Yes, he missed the warmth and smell of oleanders and green olives; but if he left here –

It was useless. Who was he trying to fool? He couldn't leave. What was he thinking? Why was he here and not with him? Running away like that.

Suddenly he realised that the light was not golden any more, but orange and red. Like when the sun was setting down. He almost jumped up. It _wa__s_ setting down. _Brasca_. How long was he here already? It would be well past dinner by the time he reached the estate. Better not lose any more time.

He left the beach without looking back at the sea.

oOo

It was already dark when he got to the mansion and the gates were already locked. He had to be let in by the butler, which was mildly embarrassing. His plan was to go immediately to Airam and to apologize, somehow, for both his behaviour in the morning and for running away like that. But the butler said Erwin would like to have a talk with him first. It didn't sound very good and he half expected a lecture or interrogation about his loyalty and trustworthiness.

Erwin gestured him to sit down and offered him a glass of plum brandy. They exchanged few obligatory phrases, but just as it was starting to be annoying, Erwin paused and gave him a very pointed look.

"I've heard you and Air paid a visit to your former comrades today," he said.

"… Yes." As expected – a discussion of his loyalty. "I can assure you, however, that it was not on my initiative. We were contacted by the Master of the Denerim cell and Airam insisted on going there."

Erwin lifted his hand. "You don't need to apologize. I do not blame you or suspect you of collaboration with the Crows. If I did, you'd be dead already," he stated matter-of-factly. "But I've known Air for ages, I know how stubborn and childish he can be sometimes."

That irritated him. He accused Airam of the same things just this morning, but that was different. Hearing it now from a man who called himself Airam's friend… he could not stand it.

"Oh, I would not say that," he said jovially. "He is stubborn, yes, but usually also quite reasonable."

For some reason, that answer seemed to amuse Erwin quite a lot. "But surely it must be frustrating for someone like you, who already is known for… achievements in his field of work, shall we say? – to follow a kid without any experience. I can imagine it's not easy. Judging by what Air told me about your adventures and his decisions, you're quite lucky to be still alive."

"Airam is inexperienced, I do not argue with that. But he is a bright fellow and learns quickly. And as for his decisions – well, all our tasks so far were completed successfully and all of us are still alive, as you said. So I guess those decisions were right, no? That other people would choose to act differently – of course they would. In such a case, however, we probably would not be here to discuss it. I at least would be definitely dead. But I do not understand. Are you not friends? From what Airam said I thought you used to be good friends, back in the Tower."

"We are, but being friends does not mean we agree on everything, all the time. A good friend should know the weak points of the other one. How else would he know how to support him? More brandy?"

He blinked at the bottle, while Erwin patiently waited for his reply, grinning. This man was truly frustrating.

"No, thanks," he managed at last.

Erwin just shrugged, poured some in his own glass and continued as if he never stopped.

"I do not mean to offend Air. I know how difficult this must be for him. He's stubborn, and very proud. Oh, yes. He always wanted to be respected. Not because he's mage, or an elf, he always hated those labels. And now…"

"Now he's got another label," he finished quietly. Yes, he knew that about Airam. And yet he used it – his weak point – to win an argument.

"Exactly. And a rather demanding one, too. Knowing Wynne, she reminds him of it ten times a day."

"At least, yes," he chuckled nervously.

"I bet he loves that… oh, and it reminds me – this golem, Shale, why does she call Air 'It'?"

"It's because of her previous master. He was doing some kind of experiments on her… Airam read his journal, said he was meddling into demonology and doing some nasty experiments and that he didn't blame Shale for hating him."

"Makes sense… So Air is still reading everything he can get his hands on? He was always like that. Always carrying at least two books with him. Even to the latrines."

"That I cannot confirm. But I would not be surprised if –"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Which were open all the time, he realised. He didn't have to turn around to know who was standing there. _Brasca_. Perhaps the crazy kid didn't hear everything?

"I am sorry to interrupt this most interesting discussion. I've been told you wanted to see me?"

So he did hear it. But he didn't sound angry, just mildly annoyed… and perhaps a little bit amused? Or was that just his wishful thinking?

Erwin chuckled. "Yes, well, seeing how quickly you finished the _Political Efficacy – Impact Of Domestic And Foreign Business On Political Decisions_, I thought you might want something more demanding. Here." He got up and picked up a few journals. "This is a bit of history – recent history, just last few decades – on business relations and the political impact it had."

"Who says I finished it? Even Frackington-fitzFforthwright's _Discourse_ makes more sense than that!"

"_N__ature of the Unnatural_? You had a problem with _that_? I'm so disappointed in you. We'll have to go over it, later..."

"Yes, well, not everyone shares your and Frackington's hobby in making unnatural things seem natural and then discuss how it proves the arbitrariness of the relation between intelligent and corporeal nature until everyone else drops down dead of boredom."

"Oh come on... _Discourse_ is just basics, anyone half literate should know that book... But back to the Political Efficacy – trade with Antiva is described in chapter nine… which is almost near the end. And as I gave you the journal only yesterday evening and you were that far already this morning, I presumed you would know it by heart now."

"Next time don't presume." Airam glared at his friend, obviously trying hard to seem calm – but he was quite clearly embarrassed. And - was it just the light or did the tips of Airam's ears really turn pink?

"All right, all right. Don't give me that look. It was me who taught you to stare like that, anyway. Just take these and have a look at it, when you have time, will you?"

Airam sighed. "Fine. Give it here. Anything else? Then good night."

Erwin looked at the retreating boy. "I think he should get some new robes," he said suddenly. "Only old guys and complete morons wear those dresses these days. They have some really nice sets with trousers in the Wonders of Thedas, I should tell him to go there."

"You know that's a brilliant idea – "

"Of course it's brilliant. I'm a genius, after all. And why are you still _here_?"

Well, he couldn't say he expected that. "_What_?"

"Don't 'what' me now. Don't you think you should go to him and explain yourself instead of chatting here with me?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Erwin looked at him with smug grin at his face. Then it finally clicked – and the next second he was on his feet, running after Airam.

No wonder those two were such good friends.

oOo

He caught up with Airam just in front of his room. "If I promise I will not role-play Wynne again, will you forgive me?"

Airam burst into laughter. "So it was a role-play? I must say, you were really convincing."

"Ah, that's me. Awesome at whatever I do. Friends again?"

"I've always been your friend, Zevran."

"I... I know," he admitted, avoiding Airam's eyes.

"All right, then. I have to go to study these horrible things, so if that's all –"

"Wait. I... would like to ask you something... if I may."

Airam shot suspicious glance at him and opened the door. "Get in, then. But just so you know, if you're going to ask me to help you find your long lost sibling, count me out. One is enough for me."

"Er... no, do not worry."

He followed the boy into the room and sat on the armchair. Airam put the journals on the desk and then threw himself on the bed.

"What a day... What did you want to ask?"

"First tell me who asked you to find their long lost sibling."

"Alistair. Well, he found out about her earlier, when he became a Warden, and this morning he went to check some facts, like where she lives, what she does, things like that. He asked me to go visit her with him tomorrow."

"You don't seem very happy about it. I would think you would be glad for him," he said, surprised.

"Well, yes, but..." Airam sighed and threw himself on his back. "Imagine for a moment that you're not a sinful debauched Antivan, but one of us finicky Fereldans, who still make a lot of fuss about such old-fashioned things like family, love, honour, loyalty... Imagining it already?"

"As hard as I can."

"Good. Now, this part will be more difficult. Imagine you're a woman, some forty years old - "

"That will indeed be bit more difficult, yes."

"I thought you were awesome at whatever you do? All right, so, woman, forty years old, widow with five children, crammed all in one room, earning your living by doing laundry. Now, one day suddenly a man appears at your door. He seems to be one of those naïve and carefree young nobles who never had to work for their living one day. He explains to you that his father was a king, who spent a few nights with your mother when he was in Redcliffe – sure, he knew she was married, but what does that matter to the king? And then the child was born, but the woman died during delivery. The man says he's the child and that he didn't know about you until recently and that now that he found you, he hopes you can be one big happy family. What would you say to him?"

"Before of after I drown him in the laundry tub?"

Airam sighed. "Yes, exactly. He's going to be hurt... and I don't know how to help him."

"But that is his private thing, no? He should do that without you. Why should you help him?"

"Because he's my friend. That's what friend do, you know. Help and give support when necessary."

"Friendship and support and all that is nice, yes, but why go to such an extreme?"

"Because it's worth it."

"Not if you get hurt or troubled because of it, it is not," he said in that Leliana's voice, before he could stop himself. _Brasca_.

"Zev, I -"

He quickly got up. "I – I should go. You need to study, yes? I should stop bothering you."

"Wait! You wanted to ask me something, right?" Airam quickly got up too.

"Ah, that... it can wait till tomorrow." Though he doubted he would ever find the courage to ask it – _once this is over and you don't need an assassin following you around any more, can I still stay with you?_

"Are you angry with me again?" Airam's voice was worried and perhaps a bit frustrated, too.

"No, of course not. Why would I be angry? But it was a long day also for you, yes? We both need to rest."

He could see Airam was not convinced, but he didn't pry further. "As you wish. Good night, then."

"Good night, Airam."

_When did things get so complicated?_


	13. Rise Again

A/N If a part of this seem familiar, it's because I wrote a separate story for BSN challenge 'assassin training' but then I decided to include it here, with only few minor changes. I have a different name on BSN and I don't want to be accused of plagiarising... myself. o)

Thanks to my dearest Brelaina for beta-reading this

* * *

**Rise Again**

He yawned and slowly got up. The others should be back from another lunch with the nobles soon.

It was surprising, but their stay in Denerim was becoming even more boring than their stay in Redcliffe. The lunches with nobles were excruciating, and after attending two or three he started to carefully plan excuses for any others. The Wardens really didn't need him there, except perhaps for moral support, and Airam always gave him that knowing and irritated look when he came up with another excuse, but it was for the better. He liked the crazy kid, but not this much, he decided after a whole afternoon in the middle of giggling women. If he heard one more lame attempt at an ambiguous joke about his dagger, he would have to show the fool just how sharp it was. Unambiguously. And that probably wouldn't help their case, so it was really in everyone's best interest that he stayed away.

At least Airam had sense enough to insist on free evenings, otherwise he would probably yawn himself to death. The only others that stayed behind were Morrigan and Shale and one could only stand so many acerbic remarks before going crazy and running away screaming. So he spent his time wandering around the city, listening to gossip, keeping an ear out if there was anything about the Wardens or Loghain. He even hired a few urchins to do the same. Once they left the town, they would report to Jowan, who wasn't as hopeless as he seemed, if instructed properly.

If only they could be on their way already. But they were to stay for one more week, not only because of the nobles, but also because Erwin insisted they should be well prepared for the journey to Orzammar.

"The journey there is long," he said, "And I suggest you keep off the main roads, as you did until now, so it will be even longer. And Orzammar... I've only been there once, and, well... dwarves are really different folk to us. Better be ready for complications."

It made sense, annoying as it was. So they started packing everything that might be handy; Bodahn would be travelling with them till the village at the Pass to trade with dwarves, so they could store part of the luggage in his wagon. They also needed to replenish their stock of food. Airam refused to touch lamb meat for at least the next two years, so Erwin provided them with smoked beef and even dry-cured pork ham, right from Antiva. He almost kissed the man when he found out. With a few jars of pickled olives and some Antivan spices he discovered at the market, he was even more eager to start their travel.

And he made some other preparations as well. He secretly went to the Wonders of Thedas to order a set of robes with trousers, with a matching hood, gloves and boots, all made of first-class soft leather, embedded with lyrium. And Bodahn agreed, after some convincing, to let his boy add some enchantments to it for free. Even Orlesian archmages would envy Airam in those. They would be ready in four days.

There was only one problem with it. He had no idea how to give presents.

Mad barking from outside told him – and the whole neighbourhood – that the crazy kid was back at last. He grinned, satisfied. Finally, some fun.

oOo

Airam was quite a sight like this, his normally white skin flushed, covered in a sweat that only accentuated his muscles. It was one of the reasons he was always looking forward to their training, though it was also a bit of a torture, to see him like this and yet be unable to touch him.

"So… did I… improve?" Asked Airam, still breathless.

"Yes, I must say you improved quite a bit," he agreed, "Especially compared to that scrawny clumsy mageling you were when we started." He smiled inwardly at the memory – it was in the Frostback Mountains, where he discovered that their fearless little leader was as impractical as one could be.

Erwin had warned them they must avoid using magic in public at any cost. Loghain was doing all he could to convince the people that the Grey Wardens were bloody murderers; if Airam or any of his followers were seen casting a spell on a citizen, Loghain would use it to prove his point. Even if said citizen was a bandit, he could easily say that in that case a court was to decide, not the Grey Wardens.

Wynne accepted that without problem. Morrigan was furious and refused to leave Erwin's estate unless absolutely necessary, counting the days till their departure. Airam took it as a reason to start training fighting with daggers. _I must not be helpless again_, he explained as his eagerness.

It wasn't truly necessary. After Airam's little chat with Ignacio about the Antivan export taxes, it was decided that during their stay Zevran would be 'responsible for all matters concerning safety and security of the Grey Wardens', which meant in fact that he was now Airam's bodyguard. Needless to say that he would never let his favourite Warden to come to any harm.

But knowing the basics should be useful for anyone. And it was fun. And he got to see him shirtless. All pluses, as far as he was concerned.

"Zevran. Are you listening?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you will train me as an assassin, now that I know the basics?"

"What?"

Airam raised an eyebrow at him. "Something wrong with your ears? Shall I call Wynne?"

"No and _no_, I will not train you as an assassin."

That answer didn't make the crazy kid very happy. "I could simply order you to do so."

"Then I would simply have to disobey."

They glared at each other equally annoyed.

"Besides, who said you already knew the basics? I can't remember ever saying such nonsense. That you can hold daggers without impaling yourself on them the next second does not make you a rogue."

It was not quite true. The being Airam freed in the lair of werewolves somehow imprinted its memories and knowledge of fighting on him. At first it wasn't much use, because knowing how something should be done and actually being able to do it were two quite different things, of course. But he was much stronger and dexterous now, and when they started training with daggers, he 'remembered' things, tricks and little details.

Still, even with this inherited expertise, _one week_ was still _one week_ – compared to the Crow apprentices Airam might have an advantage and would be already on the level that the apprentices would reach after two or three months. But from the point of view of a full Crow, it was more or less a negligible difference. Though it would not be wise to say that to the crazy kid.

Airam lifted his chin provocatively. "Tch, you're just jealous, because you can't learn to become a mage. So what else do I need to learn, as a rogue, before you start to take me seriously?"

Well now... Airam already proved that he knew a bit about sneaking – _and how do you think we managed to hide from the Templar_, was his amused reply when he tried to teach him that. And last week, just before they reached Denerim, he managed to disarm a large shrapnel trap. True, by the time he did it all the bandits were long dead and they were around him, waiting for him to finish finally, but the important thing was that he did it.

"Lock picking," he said at last.

"You didn't know that before you joined us, either – and you were an assassin already. Or so you claimed."

"Oho! Doubting the skills of your master? What a cheeky apprentice you are. That will not do. Twenty five sit-ups."

Airam glared at him, but complied. That was the agreement: during the trainings, he was in charge and Airam obeyed. "I still think – you're just jealous," he panted as he sat up. "Besides – I can unlock – better than you."

"Oh, is that so? We shall see." He looked around. The only thing that could be locked was the chest in which he stored their training weapons and a few other things. It would do. He went to it and locked it, and ostentatiously waved the key in front of the boy's nose.

"After you finish your sit-ups, you can go on and try, then. But if you don't unlock it, you'll be doing sit-ups the whole evening."

"Hmph." The boy finished the sit-ups smirking. Then he got up and walked over to the chest. "Ooooh this is going to be difficult! Oh noes! How am I going to do this, when I'm just a poor, poor mage?" He frowned in mock dilemma – and snapped his fingers.

There was distinctive _click!_ and the lid of the chest sprang up.

"What was that?"

"I unlocked the chest, like you wanted." There was infuriatingly smug grin on the boy's face. "Don't tell me it never occurred to you that mages would have a spell for that?"

"And when did you learn that spell?"

"Oh, years ago –"

"Years ago." He narrowed his eyes. "You made me try to pick that lock in those dirty ruins for an hour!"

"That was because you lied to me! Don't forget that!"

"And ever since, I wasted one hour of my precious life every day trying to learn it –" He moved forward, and Airam quickly backed away, laughing.

"Because it's useful to know it! Think of all the things we found!"

"Oh? You mean those torn trousers, spoiled potions and mouldy herbs? Yes, that was really worth it." He scowled, taking another step forward.

"We found also many interesting things! Runes! That little dagger you like – and besides, it's not just for opening chests – "

"Too late for that! I demand satisfaction. Draw your weapons, Grey Warden," he exclaimed dramatically Airam laughed, relieved to see that he wasn't really angry.

They sparred and for a while, Airam was able to parry each of his blows. Brows furrowed and biting his lips, the boy was fully concentrated, still aware of every movement, every step, the way he was breathing, all the little details that were second nature for any real rogue. Yet, against a common thug he would do fine. But not against a Crow.

Especially when he had no intention to play fair. If the crazy kid wanted to be a rogue, let alone an assassin, he must learn to fight dirty. He pretended to move right, and the boy reacted, just as he taught him. This time, however, he didn't do his usual move. Instead he stepped aside and used the moment of surprise to kick him in the groin. Hard. But such was life, yes?

"Bastard!" hissed Airam, crouching in pain, forgetting all about the fight. The next moment, he was pinned to the ground, unable to move and with both his hands held firmly above his head.

"Got you," he smirked, but then hesitated. Airam was staring at him, or rather through him, eyes darkened with fear – no. Not fear. Pure despair.

_I must not be helpless again_, Airam's words echoed in his mind. Again.

He cursed inwardly as several pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicked together. Why didn't he realize it ages ago? He quickly stepped aside.

"Airam, are you all right?"

The boy blinked and his eyes became focused again. "I – I'm fine," he said in flat voice. "Sorry, Zev, I shouldn't have panicked like that. I guess I'm tired."

He got up embarrassed and humiliated, avoiding his gaze.

_Who hurt you, Airam? _Was it someone in the Tower? Or was it before?

"You were right – I'm not a rogue, I'll never be one, I – I won't bother you any more, I promise."

Head still hung down, he went towards the door. That wasn't what he wanted. He didn't wish to break him. To see him like this – defeated, humble, no, that wasn't his crazy kid.

"No, wait."

_Who hurt you, bello mio? I will kill them all._

Airam stopped, turning his head back a little, but still avoiding his eyes. He walked over to him and lifted his chin.

"The first and the most important thing that an assassin must learn is to hide his fear."

oOo

He was becoming more and more nervous by each step, clutching the parcel under his arm. And now what? When should he do it? Tonight? Tomorrow? Or just before they leave? What should he say? Brasca, this was more complicated than preparing for an assassination.

The moment he stepped out on the market, one of the urchins he was employing ran up to him. "Message for you, Ser," he said loudly, giving him some paper. "I heard some guards talking about it and they said it's 'bout them Wardens, so I took it when they weren't watching," he added more quietly.

It was some kind of poster, with a terrible picture of what he presumed must had been a griffin on it. _Don't believe the lies! Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffons will rise again!_ - it said. He stared at it in pure disbelief. Surely nobody could be that stupid to expect this would work? And if someone indeed was that stupid, then –

He looked at the urchin with a wide grin. "You did a great job," he said. "Thank you for the delivery, I will not send back the answer," he said a bit louder, pressing a few silver coins into the kid's hand. This was definitely worth it.

The last few days were rather gloomy at Erwin's estate. Alistair was as quiet and depressed as ever since the visit to his sister's, which apparently went even worse than Airam feared, though he didn't want to tell any details.

And Airam… Ever since that training four days ago, Airam would tense whenever he tried to talk with him, probably worried he would ask about what happened. As if he didn't have a pretty good idea already. Sure, he didn't know any concrete details yet… but he would, sooner or later, and then whoever did it would regret they were born. That could be done without bothering his friend.

Whoever was behind this pathetic attempt of a lure gave him a perfect opportunity to distract the glorious Wardens of Ferelden from their brooding.

oOo

Airam was exhausted and grumpy when he went to see him. He was still in the fancy clothes Erwin and Leliana forced him to wear for meetings with nobles, though they looked rather dishevelled now, as if he was sleeping in them. Which he probably did.

"Next time you want assassinate me? Just lock me in a room with a bunch of nobles. After two hours, I'll gladly kill myself just to escape."

"Duly noted, my friend."

"So, is there anything you need? Not that I don't like your company but I need some rest before you start to torture me with sit-ups again."

"Actually, that is why I am here. What would you say to a bit of different training tonight? Some real action?"

Airam looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Well… I found this. It seems rather suspicious, no?" He handed him the poster. "I know for sure this is a trap for the supporters of the Grey Wardens. I think we should not leave that be. So what would you say to going and kicking some asses?"

"But we don't know where it is… hidden pearl… it could mean anything."

"Tch. You underestimate my skills again. I know exactly what that 'pearl' is. In fact, it is not hidden at all. In fact, it is one of the most famous places in Denerim."

"Hm. Most famous, is it? So where is it? You know we're not supposed to go to the Palace Quarters –"

He chuckled. "Oh, you need not worry. It is nowhere near the Palace Quarters… Now that I think of it, maybe you should not go there, after all. I am sure Wynne would strongly disagree. It is dangerous… in many senses of the word. Especially for someone as innocent as you."

That of course made the crazy kid all energetic, just as he wanted. "Dangerous? What is it? Where is it? Never mind, you'll tell me on the way. Let's go!"

"Oh? I thought you wanted some rest? Perhaps we should leave it for tomorrow, yes? It is quite dangerous, you will need to be strong – "

"_Zevran_."

"Well, if you insist… But we need to be prepared. I'll go get Alistair… and I think we should take Sten, as well. And Rask. You get ready. Take your daggers as well – you should be able to fight with magic, but just in case."

Airam was nodding eagerly, already pulling out the things he might need from the trunk. He didn't have many robes, only three, in fact. One was that ugly standard robes of a Circle mage – orange and blue, looked more like a nightgown than anything else. The second he received after the Joining, as he explained – which would be better if it wasn't grey, which looked horrible with his white skin. And the last one was from Eamon, made in the style of the Tevinter magisters, that he was always wearing these days, unless he went to meet with the nobles.

Besides that he had a small collection of belts and sashes, and a few pairs of those ridiculous cloth shoes and gloves, mostly what they found during their travels, all of them old and none really fitting. No wonder the crazy kid didn't really care about the clothes.

But that was hardly an excuse for the mess in that trunk. He winced when he saw in what state some of the things Airam took out were in, throwing them on the floor unceremoniously. Tch. It seemed from now on he would have to include discipline and tidiness in their lessons. But that could wait for tomorrow.

oOo

An hour or so later, they were already hurrying through the evening streets, their faces and weapons hidden under hooded cloaks. Airam also had his face powdered to a more usual tone and was wearing a wig. With long hair he really looked much better, as he pointed out when he first saw it and was amused to see the boy shoot furtive satisfied glances to the mirror.

"So... are you finally going to tell us where are we going? What is this 'pearl'?" Alistair looked at him curiously.

"So impatient, my friend. Very well. The Pearl is a brothel."

"You mean they set their headquarters in a _brothel_? Why would they do something so stupid? No, I don't think that's right. You didn't decipher it correctly." Airam shook his head wisely.

"I agree. Grey Wardens in a brothel? Who would ever believe such nonsense," agreed Alistair angrily.

"Well if you find it offends your intelligence or honour of the Grey Wardens, it is one more reason to get rid of these fools, no? Besides, I investigated it a bit when I found out -"

"You did?" Airam sounded honestly surprised, and he arched his eyebrow in reply.

"Doubting my skills again, are you?"

"But you said no sit-ups today, remember that." There was again that smug grin on Airam's face.

"True, but there are other means to punish a wayward apprentice. Let me see. Ah, yes. First thing tomorrow morning, I will check your trunk and backpack, and I expect everything neat and tidy. If I find it in the same state it is now, I will be very displeased. You will _beg_ for good old sit-ups."

Alistair burst into laughing. "That bad, is it?"

"And what are you laughing at, Ser 'if it's dry, it's clean'?" Airam made a face at the Chantry boy, who should really learn when to stay quiet. "Tell you what, after Zevran finishes inspecting my things, he'll go and check yours. And that's an order."

"What? You can't do that -"

"_Parshaara_. Do you never stop blabbering? Enough of this."

Sten's outburst was so unexpected it made both the Wardens shut up immediately. He couldn't help laughing at their shocked expressions.

"What else did you find out?" asked Sten, ignoring the two.

"Those so-called friends are most likely paid to lure any supporters of the Grey Wardens. But we do have some real friends there – yes, Alistair, in the brothel. The proprietor, a charming woman called Sanga, even offered a discount... so if you wish to get some more experience, now you can."

"You know, I think Sten is right. You should stick to the subject," snapped Alistair, already blushing.

"Well, there seem to be four of these 'friends', and two of them are those Qunari that are not really Qunari –"

"Tal Vashoth," grumbled Sten.

"Exactly. A few days ago they rented one of the rooms in the Pearl to organize the supporters of the Grey Wardens in their opposition to the Teyrn, as they say. But those unlucky fellows that met with them were taken somewhere and never returned home. Luckily it seems not many were stupid enough to be lured. Still, if we do not stop it, soon there will be rumours that the Grey Wardens know and allowed it to happened. And that wouldn't do, yes?"

"Do you know how many people they tricked?" Airam was now serious, no trace of joke in his voice.

"Four or five. But the good thing is that Sanga promised her guards will not see or hear anything if the fight is in the room. Which means it will not be 'in public' and there will be no 'witnesses'."

"Good. Let's teach Loghain that he can't fool with the Wardens, then."

oOo

The brothel looked surprisingly good. For Ferelden, that is. It wasn't nearly enough decorated for Antivan's brothels, though. But he had to admit that the offer wasn't too bad. The business hours had barely started and the lounge was still full of whores, men and women of all races, that were waiting for their clients. Four men like them were bound to attract a lot of curious looks and offers. Especially Alistair, the only human among them – that the cloak made him look noble and mysterious at the same time also helped there.

Poor Chantry boy was blushing like a rose even before they reached Sanga, and the shade was deepening steadily as they followed her directions to the room with their 'friends'. They had to pass by several rooms, and judging by the sounds, some of them were already occupied. Good thing that the doors were closed; if the sounds were enough to make the poor Chantry boy this red, then the sight might have killed him on the spot.

"So this is where people in the city are brought for breeding. Must they be so noisy with it?"

They burst into such laughter that the noise in few of the nearest rooms suddenly stopped. Sten watched them with crossed arms, frowning. Airam had to lean on the wall, hiding his face in his arms, and Alistair's face now had the deepest shade of crimson. Though it might have been caused by all the choking.

"_Breeding_, as you call it, is in fact rather discouraged here," he explained. "Though accidents happen, sometimes, of which I am a living proof."

"I do not understand. Why would these people have sex if they do not intend to breed?"

"For... pleasure? You've heard of such a thing, yes?"

"Pleasure. Are you talking nonsense on purpose? If you want to talk, use real words."

"You know, he's got a point," said Alistair, but quickly added, "Not that pleasure doesn't exist, of course, buuut... having sex just for pleasure, without love, without any wish to have some deeper bond with the person seems... wrong."

"But why? Surely even you..." he started, but then Airam cut in.

"I agree with Sten. I certainly don't see what all the fuss is about regarding sex," he said, shrugging. "But if you really want to discuss it, do it later. We have work to do now."

It probably shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. He expected the boy to say something cheeky, like he always did. Even if the cheekiness was just the pretence... or perhaps especially in such case. He had no doubt this was how Airam really felt about the matter; it would be understandable, considering what he found out during that training, but still...

"How should I know? Just try something."

"All right... what about... _sausage_?"

He blinked, suddenly realizing they were already in front of the door and were being asked for the password. Airam's guess was, of course, incorrect, and after a moment of shocked silence they could hear a long stream of curses behind the door.

"Sausage? In a brothel? What a dirty mind you have," he said, pushing the crazy kid aside. "Ehm... The griffons will rise again."

"Who's got a dirty mind? I'm just hungry. We skipped dinner for this mission," grumbled Airam, as the door opened.

As they walked in, one of the not-Qunaris – the name Sten gave them was just too long – silently locked the door behind them and remained standing there. Besides them there were two warriors, one a tiny elf, the other a huge human. _I bet the elf is the clever one, the big ones are always stupid. _It seemed the big guy was determined to prove he was right as soon as possible.

"Ah, another supporter of the Grey Wardens," he beamed. "Welcome, friends."

"I must say, you've got some weird friends, Al."

"Says the guy whose best friend is a _maleficar_."

He head to chuckle at the man's expression. Yes, those two definitely weren't what one would expect from the Grey Wardens. But even joking, they were already ready to fight – the air in the room was cooler already and Alistair had his hand on his sword. People should really stop underestimating them.

"No, Paedan, have a better look. The smaller one, he looks just like the Warden on the posters. That's him, that's the guy Arl Howe wants."

"I am a Warden too, you know." Alistair pouted. "But I will forgive you for giving us the name of your employer."

"You can forgive us from the cell in Arl Howe's dungeon. You've got one chance to surrender." The fool obviously still didn't understand the danger.

"We refuse," declared Airam merrily.

"Better think of it, Warden! We are not common guards, we're Arl Howe's best men."

"But not the brightest, I see." Airam rolled his eyes and turned to the tiny elf. "Can't we cut out all the compliments and end this? I really have a lot of better things to do than dealing with you."

"I agree. Paedan, as you can see, this one refuses to surrender and tries to resist. We might have to kill him."

"Well then, let's kill our own Warden!" Paedan charged into attack and the others followed.

They were all sword fighters. Fools. They had to know that the Warden was a mage. Without any mage on their side, they would have a big disadvantage. Not that he was complaining about that. Now that the crazy kid mentioned it, he realised he was quite hungry as well. The sooner this nonsense was over the better.

"What? Why always me? Alistair's a Warden, too!" Airam's spell was long ready by now, and the tiny elf woman was frozen in an instant.

"Oh, it's always so heart-warming to find out you have a friend," chuckled Alistair, shattering her in one blow. But did that stop the rest of the fools? Of course not.

"Not a friend. - Hey, you big oaf! Why don't you fight someone of your size!" Airam glared at the non-Qunari that attacked Rask and immediately cast another freezing spell.

Paedan stopped, hesitating – and it was all he needed to sneak behind him and drive his daggers, coated with poison, into his back.

"As I was saying, Al. We're not friends, we're brothers."

Alistair grinned. "Of course we are... Wait, that's all? Wow, we're fast!"

Sten just ran his sword through the second Qunari, and Paedan was already squirming in agony on the floor. The poison would kill him within one minute.

"We are not just fast, my friend. We, are _ridiculously awesome_."

"You know, I _love_ it when you say that." Airam was grinning widely. "Let's see if we can find some proof that these fools worked under Howe's orders."

"I doubt it," he said, "Howe wouldn't be that stupid, to put such order on paper... ah." He shut up as Airam triumphantly took a letter with Howe's seal from Paedan's pocket.

"You know, we Fereldans are not like you Antivan barbarians, with your '_no problemo_' attitude. We do things properly. Everything must be on paper, signed and with a seal, or it doesn't exist." Alistair laughed.

"Oh, I see. Maker be praised for Fereldan bureaucracy, then. Now, we should discuss the room cleaning service with Sanga, yes?"

oOo

Sanga agreed to take care of the bodies, but it wasn't for free. Naturally. He didn't expect it to be, but Airam wasn't very happy when she asked them to 'remove' the group of mercenaries that were staying in the brothel, scaring away guests and ruining business. All under the pretence of 'protection', for which they expected quite a high fee.

"So... you want us to kill them?"

"No no no, my young friend," she replied with a smile, "You misunderstood. The matter you solved was different, those... clients were in a closed room and here nobody asks what's going on in a room once the door is closed. But these, as you can see, are in the main lounge. In fact I would much prefer it if you solved this without a fight. I do not wish to terrify my clients even more."

That seemed to calm down Airam a bit. "All right, then. Let's get this over with."

When he politely asked the mercenaries to leave, they just laughed. Their leader slowly got up, obviously trying to impress the boy with sheer size.

"Get lost, knife-ear. Unless you want to offer yourself for entertain...ment..." the man's voice trailed off as he looked at Airam. He couldn't see the boy's face, but he'd bet his eyes were black again.

"Hundreds have died in my wake." Airam's voice was so menacing even he was scared, and a quick glance at the others told him they felt just as uncomfortable. "You are just a number for me. If you want to play..."

"N-no, no, I think we had enough fun already," said the man quickly. "Come on guys, we're leaving. This place doesn't need our protection, it seems."

The men grumbled and complained, but the leader ignored them, keeping his eyes on Airam as if he expected the boy would lose his patience at any moment and tear him apart. Which, in fact, wasn't that unlikely, as it was clear Airam was trying hard to suppress his fury.

"Before you leave, go and pay Sanga. Lost profit as well."

The leader looked as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and obediently went to pay their debt. Needless to say Sanga was more than impressed, and assured them repeatedly that they were always welcome in the Pearl and that they would get a big discount, should they ever decide –

"Yes, yes, we get it. But I don't think we'll need it," grumbled Alistair.

"Ah, speak for yourself, my friend, yes?" He chuckled.

They were about to leave, when a group of guardsmen came in. _Brasca_. This was truly an unpleasant complication. He quickly assessed their situation – to kill some fools or to drive away mercenaries was fine, but killing guards was something entirely different. Especially in front of this many witnesses. Even if Sanga kept quiet, someone would sell them, that was sure. It would be best if they could get away as quickly and quietly as possible.

It almost seemed they would manage it, when two guardsmen came to Airam. "Sergeant would like to talk to you, Warden," one of them said – quietly and rather politely. Well now. This was interesting.

The soldiers took them into one of the small lounges. Good. No witnesses, should the Sergeant decide to make problems. But it turned out he was quite sensible.

"Greetings, Warden. Sergeant Kylon of the City Guard. Please do not worry. I just wanted to assure you that not all City Guards are happy with Howe's rule, and that many of us – perhaps even most of us – do not believe the Teyrn's accusations about the Grey Wardens. And also that I really appreciate how you solved the problem with those mercenaries, without any killing. Thank you."

Airam blinked, confused, and he couldn't blame him. This was the last thing any of them would expect from a Sergeant of the City Guard.

"Ah... you are welcome. And thank you... But... how did you know I'm a Warden?"

"We all got the posters with your appearance. I must say the sketch didn't do you much justice," explained Kylon almost apologetically.

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"Well, for some reason, you have white skin and violet hair on the sketch. It is ridiculous, really. I guess it was someone's bad idea of a joke."

They all just stared at him, for a moment. He quickly glanced at Airam, but he didn't seem angry – in fact, he looked almost happy. Crazy kid, really.

"That's just rude," said Alistair angrily, but before he could say anything else, Airam quickly cut in.

"I agree. Now that you know the truth, would you be so kind and inform all the guards about it? I really don't appreciate the idea of being considered as some ridiculous monster."

It was Kylon's turn to look surprised. "Are you sure? It can, after all, help you..."

"Ah, you know how important image is for young men," he said with a wink, which made Alistair chuckle. Airam decided to ignore it.

Finally, after some more compliments and phrases, they were on their way back to the Erwin's, laughing at everything that happened. Even Sten was smiling a bit.

"Yes, and now that we've dealt with this minor issue, we can return to more important matters, yes?"

Airam looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the disciplinary action for your cheekiness earlier. Tomorrow morning at six, me and Sten will make a thorough inspection of all your things, _my Wardens_. And let me repeat – you do not wish to displease us."

"What? You can't do that!"

"I remember you saying that earlier, Al. It must be really bad, if you protest so much. And besides, I already made it an order. If I have to do it, then you have to do it as well."

"This from my _brother_. You know, I think I want to be an only child."

Yes, this was much better. It seemed tomorrow would be a very funny day. He grinned inwardly – then he remembered the package, now safely closed in his own trunk. He still had no idea how he should give it to Airam. _Brasca_. Tomorrow would be a very difficult day...


	14. As the Nightingale Flies

A bit of an explanatory chapter, but these things needed to be said, they will be important later, so bear with me. :)

Also, they are finally out of Denerim! They were supposed to stay there for one chapter, not three and a half! :D

Thanks to Brelaina for beta-reading this.

And thanks to amazing **Bitenomnom **(ShiningMoon) for her amazing fanart of Zev and Air. Warning! Extremely adorable. :) http:/ shiningmoon. deviantart. com/art/For-Klidi-Stargazing-262595491

* * *

**As the Nightingale Flies**

He was _nervous._ Which was ridiculous. He was _never_ nervous. Of course, he would rather die some gruesome death at the hands of a smelly darkspawn than let anyone know. Once again, his Crow training came in handy. Most of the others didn't notice anything, except Leliana, who was giving him suspicious glances. But he didn't care about Leliana right now. He threw another sidelong glance at the door. Where _was_ that crazy kid? Surely it couldn't take that long to –

_He __doesn__'__t __like __it. __That__'__s __why __he__'__s __not __here __yet, __he __just __doesn__'__t __know __how __to __face __me, __maybe __he__'__s __afraid __I__'__ll __be __angry__…_

Leliana was watching him carefully and Erwin had that knowing smirk plastered on his face. The man somehow knew about everything that happened in the mansion… then again, he wasn't really difficult to spot, hovering in front of Airam's room for a good ten minutes before he found the courage to finally knock.

When Airam opened the door… well. Good thing none of his former colleagues saw it or his image would be ruined forever. After all the hours he spent planning what to say and how to act, he just stood there, until Airam asked him if something was wrong. One more moment and the boy would probably start healing him, or worse, run for Wynne. What was it about that crazy kid that he always lost his ability to speak? At last he managed to mutter '_This __is __for __you_,' and pressed the package into Airam's arms. Ignoring Airam's surprised thanks and questions, he then walked away as quickly as his shaking legs could move.

And now Airam was late for dinner. Perhaps he shouldn't have –

"Oooh, Airam, you look wonderful!"

Trying to look calm and nonchalant, he turned to the door. He inhaled. Leliana was right, Airam did look wonderful – more than wonderful. The dark grey tunic contrasted nicely with his skin, without making him look like an incarnation of death, and the rich green vest softened the strict look. And it fitted him perfectly, just as the tailor at the Wonders of Thedas promised.

"Get over here, I need to have a closer look at it."

Airam complied and Leliana spent the next quarter of an hour checking and commenting and gasping in awe over every single detail. Morrigan did her best to be her cynical counterpart as usual, but she was smiling. But the most satisfied was obviously Sten, who always disliked Airam's robes. Men should wear clothes fit for warriors, not women's dresses. Airam was obviously enjoying the attention, parading in front of them like a peacock. That itself was worth it.

"Such extravagances are not necessary, Erwin. It must have cost a fortune. That money could have been put to better use. Really, I thought you had more sense."

"Ah, still your good old spoil-sport self, Wynne. My money is my own, may I remind you. The Chantry and the Circle checked that several times already. If I want to spend it on my friends, it's none of your business. Besides, you have the wrong man. I was not the one who bought this." Erwin was calm and polite as always, enjoying Wynne's growing irritation and disapproval just as much as Airam enjoyed his robes.

"Who else would have spent that much money on them?"

Airam stopped, looking worried. He would bet the boy didn't even think of the cost before now – he still didn't know much about money. Dealing with the merchants was usually his or Leliana's task. The only financial decision made by their leader was that half of the money they earned in any way should be distributed in equal part to each of them, and half kept for 'common goods'. And almost everywhere they went they got a lot of free equipment, so none of them had to touch their personal part yet.

The same with these robes – the moment the tailor found out it was for 'The Warden', he got a huge discount. '_As __long __as __you __get __rid __of __that __bastard __Loghain __and __his __disgusting __lackeys, __I __consider __this __an __investment_,' he said. And besides, Erwin was right. It really wasn't Wynne's place to decide what they did with their money.

But Airam looked worried. "Zevran… you didn't spend all your money just on this? I mean – don't think I'm not grateful, it is really a dream come true, I've never had anything – but I can't let you – "

"Tsk, tsk. You underestimate my bartering skills, my friend. If our dear Wynne used her magnificent… _assets_ more, she could get the better price too. Really, do not worry about me."

"_Zevran_? You mean Zevran gave you that? Why would Zevran give you _clothes_? Or were all your robes at such a pitiful state that there was no other way?" Alistair chuckled, earning himself one of the infamous Airam's glares.

"Ha, ha. I will have you know that Zevran was _impressed_ by the order in my things. Shall we ask Sten how your inspection went?"

"No need to. And it doesn't answer my question why Zevran would give you clothes, of all things? It seems so… _girlish_."

Before Airam could think of an answer, the only girl in their group – because only a person wishing a quick and painful death would call _Morrigan_ 'a girl' – cut in. "Because it's both practical and lovely. You're such a typical soldier, Alistair. It was an absolutely marvellous idea and Airam looks gorgeous in it and… and I think it deserves a kiss!"

There was a ringing silence after those words. Everyone looked at Leliana, then at him and then at Airam. He felt as if Airam had cast one of his ice spells on him. Now was the time to say something witty and funny, but once again his words failed him. Or perhaps it was because he wanted – hoped – but, no, of course –

And then the crazy kid laughed and walked over to him. "You're right, Leli. It does."

Their eyes met, for a moment. He was still unable to move, to say or do anything. He could only look into those eyes, completely lost, numb with the anticipation of what was going to happen, while Airam pulled him in for a brief hug and then kissed him – mwah, mwah, mwah – on the right cheek, on the left and then the right again.

"Thank you, Zevran." Airam's voice was soft and warm and his fingers twitched, so hard he wanted to cup the boy's face in his hands and give him a proper kiss, passionate and breathtaking. But that probably wouldn't be a good idea, not yet. There were better ways to spend the day than standing in the dining room, frozen to the bone.

There was at least a dozen smart replies that he could say, but he felt this moment was way too precious to destroy it by cheap jokes and sarcasm.

"You are very welcome, my friend," he said softly.

Erwin coughed. "Hate to interrupt this romantic moment, but as you're leaving tomorrow, we should have a little talk about what we should do next. Or at least Airam and Alistair, the rest of you can of course do whatever you wish."

Airam sighed. "You always ruin all the fun," he said accusingly. "But allow me to eat something first, you slave driver."

"Five minutes. It's your own fault for coming late."

oOo

He stayed, and so did Leliana and, unfortunately, Wynne. It was a boring meeting, basically only summarisations of agreements they made with the nobles, numbers of men and amounts of money promised. Erwin also liked his idea of urchins serving as a network of informants; he could almost hear the little wheels turning in the mage's head and he was sure that when they returned from Orzammar, it would be elaborated and perfected beyond anything he himself could do.

They decided that the men should be gathered at Redcliffe, where they will be trained and equipped, and sent to help nearby towns and villages. But they will not send big companies. No need to attract the attention of the Archdemon before they were quite ready, as Erwin explained.

"I spent the last months gathering all available information about previous Blights, official and unofficial, and our main advantage is that the Archdemons are lazy brutes incapable of any strategic thinking," he informed them merrily. "They rely on sheer number of their minions, and prefer not to stick their noses out of their holes unless a) their minions are doing so well it seems the surfacers will be overwhelmed soon, or b) if the surfacers get too strong and become a threat to the darkspawn. So if we manage to make it difficult for those bastards without revealing how strong we really are, it should get us enough time to prepare ourselves properly."

It was impossible to say to what extent Erwin really meant it and to what extent it was a joke. But it was irritating Wynne, and that alone was enough for him. The last few days she was really getting on his nerves. She finally gave up trying to make him see the erroneousness of his ways, but now, for a change, she was giving him long scrutinizing looks, not caring if he noticed or not.

"We should not take these things lightly," she said in that cold, disapproving voice he hated so much. "The whole country depends on us. We should not rely on false hope and act as quickly as possible."

"You can hurry all you wish, my dear Wynne, but it won't make the days longer. Smiths will still need the same time to finish armour and weapons, and men will still need the same time to train. And you all need training, as well – that was a brilliant idea, by the way, and it proves you're a more than capable leader, Air. So take it easy, ignore the main highway and go along the coast, through all the villages. You won the nobles, now you have to win ordinary people. Kill the darkspawn, defend their crops and cattle, save every single stranded kitty. Make yourself a hero in their eyes. It will be a great help."

Wynne looked as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. The moment they ended the discussion about next steps and the talk diverted to more pleasant topics, she excused herself and left.

"You should try to be nicer to her, Erwin. Gran means good."

Erwin snorted and poured them all a glass of brandy. "Perhaps she means good for you, but she can't stand me. I refused to give up half of my money, see."

"Why would you want to do that? You'd have to be a fool," blurted Alistair.

"Well… you know that it's possible for a mage to get out of the Tower, yes? If they submit a proposal of a research, or if another mage already doing one asks for their assistance. Many young mages believe that anything would be approved, but it's not that easy. The only projects that get the approval and the blessing of the Circle are those that would bring back some profit. The mage has three years to make his project profitable, then he has to either return to the Tower or give one quarter of their earnings to the Chantry and one quarter directly to the Circle."

"Profitable? How are the mages supposed to do that? They don't teach us anything about money and finance in the Tower! Maker knows I would be completely lost if I didn't have Zev and Leli with me."

Erwin sighed. "Trust me, during the last five years I have appealed to Irving many times to include bit of finance and accounting in the education of mages. But the Chantry is against it. I think they're afraid it would make mages more independent and thus more dangerous."

That was understandable, he thought, but very short-sighted. "But they have to learn it anyway, no?"

"Over time, yes. They usually try to find some rich sponsor that would fund their research, but of course it's not for free. They become pawns in their political games, much like Jowan. Sometimes they abandon their 'projects' completely and just keep working for their sponsors. That's why it's not so easy to say that all mages will support you, even if the First Enchanter orders it."

Alistair was frowning, more and more annoyed. "I still don't understand. Why does Irving allow this? This situation must cause problems also to him, no?"

"It does, but it's not so simple. It's about money, Your Highness – everything is always about money. The Circle needs this money. What we receive from the state budget is hardly enough to keep the mages in the Tower from starving."

"I don't believe that. We were in the Tower, it didn't look as if they missed anything," Alistair sounded half angry half defensive. Erwin laughed bitterly at that.

"And how long did you stay there, if I may ask? Go and try spend one month there during the winter, and then we'll see if you'll say the same thing. Do you have any idea how much it costs to heat a building like the Tower, built of thick cold stones? Just don't tell me we should use magic for it – would you like to be a living stove? Besides, it would require at least a dozen of mages that wouldn't do anything else, day and night, other than producing heat. Or the clothes – do you think the mages wear those hideous nightgowns because they like them? No, it's because the Tower has a long-term contract with the supplier of that fabric with a fifteen percent discount."

Leliana was sincerely horrified. "Oh, is _that_ the only reason? And who is that supplier? Perhaps he could be… _convinced_ to choose new colours and patterns. Zev and I will gladly see to that, yes?"

But Erwin didn't react to her interruption. "Mages are considered public enemies, Your Highness. Children of demons, some call us. And some say we are cursed by the Maker as a punishment for bringing corruption into the Golden City. Why waste money on such creatures? Those who promise to serve obediently, that's something different. But there's no real need for that many of us. The fewer apprentices who actually make it through the Harrowing, the better."

It reminded him of something that Airam said, something that suddenly made much more sense. "Is that why apprentices have to fight summoned demons without any weapons?"

Alistair stared at him, then at Airam and Erwin. It must have been hard, he realized, for someone raised by the Chantry to suddenly discover the other side of the coin. He had no doubt Erwin was telling the truth. It made too much sense.

"That will change. _I_ will change it. I won't allow anyone treated like this in my kingdom, mage or not."

He chuckled. _His_ kingdom? It seemed their Chantry boy really got used to the idea of becoming king. _Hilarious._ But Airam was looking at Alistair with a proud smile, and Erwin even got up and bowed.

"Thank you, Your Highness. Please allow me to say that I am very happy that you think this way. It gives me hope that things might start changing."

"I have no doubt what you said is true, but how is it then possible that you are this rich?" He pointed out, before it turned into sentimental farce.

"My parents. They set a nice sum aside for me, plus regular rent. So it's not my earnings, it's not the result of any job, and the Chantry couldn't take it from me. My parents found the loophole in the law, it seems. Good thing as well. It enabled me to help the Collective. We try to help the mages fresh from the Tower to stay out of the trouble and teach them how to become independent from sponsors."

"Your parents?" Airam looked up at him with renewed interest. "So you were able to meet them?"

"No. Now, enough of this chit-chat. I'm sure you have better plans for your last day in Denerim. Don't forget you should go to bed early, I'm waking you up before sunrise."

oOo

The day was uneventful after that, spent mostly in last preparations, checking if they had everything necessary, packing the last things. Especially Shale seemed to be very happy that they were finally leaving – a few more days closed in the mansion, she said, and she would really turn into a mindless statue.

They woke up two hours before sunrise and then went back through the underground passage to the Silent Lady. Outside everything was just as busy as when they arrived. It almost seemed as if the last two weeks didn't happen. But it was enough to look at Airam, walking as proud as a peacock in his new robes to realize how much had changed. They said their goodbyes and were ready to go when Erwin pulled him aside. "May I have a word with you? Thanks. I just want to say… Airam is one of the few good things that happened to me in the Circle. If he'd get hurt in _any_ way…"

"I will not let anyone hurt him," he said warily.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." Erwin patted him on the shoulder. "Take care, my friend."

He watched the leaving guy with confused amusement. "What did he want from you?" Airam nudged him in the elbow.

"I believe he just gave me a father's talk."

"He did _what_? But you're both equally old."

"Old?" Asked Leliana. "Erwin is not old. And he is very attractive man, if I say so."

"He'll be twenty-nine in Firstfall. Almost thirty! And Zevran is not much younger."

"Alistair, I'm afraid I _will_ assassinate your fellow Warden after all. I hope you won't mind."

"Wait till we deal with dwarves first. Hey!" Alistair's gloves were suddenly frozen solid to his hands.

"Be glad I didn't freeze you completely, you traitor. I would if we didn't have to hurry to get out of here before Loghain's spies notice we're gone," snapped Airam indignantly.

He laughed with the others, but it was half-hearted. _Did __Airam __really __think __he __was __old?_ The whole world shrunk to this one question. He wasn't even twenty five yet. But that was seven more than Airam. Was he too old? Was that why Airam always asked him for stories, did he see him like an old guy? And why did it bother him so much?

oOo

The next few days were rather uneventful. From Denerim they headed north-west, following the branch of the Hafter river, then headed west through the Coastlands. Unfortunately they couldn't go all the way to the coast, it would take them too far north – and too near Highever, now controlled by the rat guy, Howe. But it was still a reasonably pleasant journey, considering the country was in war. As their route went through the villages, they were travelling during the daytime again and spent nights in local inns. There weren't that many darkspawn as down in south, and the Blight seemed less terrifying than the civil war and the slaughter at Highever.

In every inn they heard a new version, each a bit worse than the previous one. In one of the latest, Howe's men were riding on drakes and there was also a full battalion of maleficars. It was impossible to say what really happened, except the basic fact – that Howe betrayed the Teyrn Cousland, attacked the castle during the night and slaughtered everyone from the Teyrn to the last servant, including the little children.

Except for the heir, Fergus Cousland. That was another detail that occurred in all versions. Fergus had already left, leading the army to the Ostagar. He survived and one day he would return and avenge his family, the rumours said.

Based on what he heard about Ostagar he really doubted that Fergus Cousland survived, but he decided to remember that name, just in case. It might be useful, one day.

It seemed that was not going to be any different, pleasant to the point of boring. And yet something felt out of place. A few miles after the village he was certain – they were being followed. He went to Leliana, who was already aware of it and together they discussed their options. The bandits would not risk attacking them here in the open plains – unless they were totally stupid. But they would reach the West Hills by evening; they planned to set camp there and head south to the nearest ford at the River Dane tomorrow. The bandits would try to attack them either at camp, or at the ford. But they will be ready.

The men attacked the moment they started to pull up their tents. Not bad. Normally only the guards would be armed, while the others set up camp as quickly as possible. During this brief moment, they would be more vulnerable, and a swift and efficient attack could cause a lot of problems. Of course, none of them were surprised, so it didn't really work. Besides, mages didn't need to hold their staff to fight. The staff makes spells more powerful and focused, but the mage can fight well without it as well. Some mages do not need it at all. Shape-shifters, for example. That was how Airam explained it to him.

And that was what the poor sods learnt now in a painful way.

After a surprising counter-attack, it didn't take long and the bandits were defeated, half of them dead, the other half badly injured and literally shaking and sobbing in terror every time they looked at Morrigan in her lovely spider form, or Sten, who was towering above them like an embodiment of the Maker's wrath.

Their leader was kneeling in front of Airam and Alistair, trying to buy his life. Fool. If the Wardens wanted to kill him, he would already be dead. The fact that he lived yet meant they were going to let him live. On the other side, Airam was giving the man one of his most impressive glares – and he knew from his own experience how terrifying it could be."

"Please, spare our lives! We are not your real enemies-"

"Oh? You seem pretty real to me," snapped Airam.

"We're just mercenaries, we're not the one who wants you dead. Spare our lives, and we will tell you everything."

"Let me guess. It was Loghain. Or Howe." Alistair was trying hard to be as impressive as Airam, and he wasn't too bad at it.

"No! We were not hired to kill you, Wardens," the man looked up at Alistair, sensing his chance.

"Then talk. If your information is useful, we might reconsider and let you live." Once again, Airam was as cold and menacing as the Crow Masters.

The man licked his lips. "Give me your word first, that you won't kill me –"

"I have another proposal. You start speaking now and tell us everything you know – or I will let my Crow have his fun with you."

Airam folded his arms, ignoring the alarmed looks from Alistair. Ah well. The Chantry boy still had a lot to learn.

"Mmm yes," he purred before Alistair had a chance to ruin the whole game. "Please don't say anything, my dear. I haven't had any fun since I came to this dog-reeking country. We would start with some appetizers… hmmm… what do you say about lanthrax? I promise you, you won't be bored for one minute…"

"No." All the colour was drained from the man's face. "_Please_, Warden."

"Talk, then."

"We were sent to kill the girl, Leliana, the former lay sister of the Chantry in Lothering. The person who hired us claimed she was an Orlesian spy."

"Who hired you?"

"Marjolaine. It was Marjolaine, yes?" Leliana carefully avoided looking at Airam and Alistair.

"Why would this Marjolaine want you dead? What's going on, Leliana?" Alistair sounded positively hurt. Leliana blushed, clearly embarrassed. Oh, this should be good.

"Wait. Morri, please, can you put these fools to rest, first?"

The man's eyes widened in fear. "No, please! I did as you wan-" The rest of the word died on his lips, as he was hit by Morrigan's strongest sleeping spell.

They carried all the mercenaries to one place at the end of the camp, leaving them under Shale's supervision. During that time Airam didn't even look at Leliana, who was more and more anxious.

"So," said Airam calmly when they returned to the fire. "I believe this is where you tell me that you are an Orlesian bard, right?"

"You _knew_? Am I the only fool who had no idea?" There weren't many times that Alistair was this angry. The last time was probably in Redcliffe, when they had the now legendary argument over Jowan.

"No, I didn't, so please stop fuming now. But I suspected. Honestly, Al – you never wondered where she learnt to fight like that?"

"I did. But I believed her explanation, that she learned it during her travels as a minstrel."

"It wasn't that far from the truth, you know," said Leliana, reaching for Alistair's hand, but he stepped aside as if she had some terrible catching disease. She winced. "Everything I said was true. I went to the Chantry because I wanted to end my previous life. And then the Maker told me –"

"Do you have me for a fool? You can drop your pretence now!"

"I am not pretending anything!"

"I think we should leave her in some village." Alistair turned to Airam, determinedly. "We can't trust her any more."

"No! You can't do this! You can't just send me away! I did not wrong you in any way!"

"You lied to us, Leliana! For all we know, you could be an Orlesian spy!"

"You lied as well! You didn't tell us you were the heir to the throne!"

"That was different!"

"I don't see why!"

"_Enough_."

And this, he thought, grinning widely, was why Airam, not Alistair was their leader. It was truly incredible how much authority the crazy kid could put into one calm, quiet word, when he wanted. Both Leliana and Alistair stopped shouting immediately and looked at Airam, their faces red by both anger and embarrassment.

"We will all calm down now. We will finally pull up those tents and light up a fire and get the stew cooking. Then Leliana will tell us everything and this time she won't lie. We will listen, quietly and without interruptions, and _then_ we can decide what to do. Do you agree?"

Alistair was still furious, but nodded anyway.

It was hard to say how much of the heartbreaking story Leliana told them was really true. An innocent, young bard, – was such thing even possible? – absolutely devoted to her _femme__de__patron_, only to be betrayed in the most cruel way possible, framed and left to die in torture chambers, and then of course a miraculous escape at the last moment. That would be already difficult to believe, but her claim that even though her original purpose of going to the Chantry was to hide from Marjolaine, she really _did_ find the Maker there and that her vision _was_ true was too much.

Then again, it wasn't much more improbable than an Antivan Crow becoming really loyal – a _friend_ – to his former mark. And there seemed to be no contradictions in her story, no matter how many questions they asked. Especially Wynne. Of course, that didn't mean much, as Leliana could have the story thought over and ready ages ago, exactly for the case of discovery.

No, he would have to keep an eye on her. Just in case.

"Oh, brilliant. So now it's not just a mad regent and the Crows we have to worry about, but also a top-class spy who apparently knows much more about our movements than the first two combined. Just what we needed." Airam sighed and rubbed his face.

"I am sorry for that. Trust me, I never intended to cause any trouble to you or your mission. I wanted to help, I still do, if you'll let me."

Alistair pursed his lips, but didn't say anything.

"I trust you," said Airam after a while. "You lied about who you are, but you've always been a good friend to us. But we will have to deal with Marjolaine once we're back. We should also warn Erwin about her."

"Oh, Air, thank you!" Leliana threw herself at Airam, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the cheek. Airam blushed and chuckled.

Perhaps Alistair was right. They should get rid of her as soon as possible.

Morrigan chuckled viciously. "Is something wrong, assassin? You don't look yourself."

"Oh? And who do I look like, hmmm? A Chantry boy? "

"Morrigan's right, you know." Airam and Leliana finally untangled themselves. "You weren't hurt during the fight, were you?"

"Tch. Of course not. I am perfectly fine, I assure you."

"Still, I want to be sure. Let Gran check you up, all right? And then go have some rest."

"Stop treating me like some crippled old guy –" He stopped, realizing he said more than he wanted. Morrigan and Leliana were both giggling madly, but Airam stared at him, totally nonplussed. As if he never said – as if he didn't remember – _brasca_, he probably _didn__'__t_ remember.

"What about silly little kid, then? Be a good boy, Zevvie, and go wash your face, and don't forget your ears and neck. Then go to sleep like a good boy. I promise I'll bring you dinner and tell you a bedtime story. All right?"

"Will I also get a goodnight kiss?" He pouted.

"Two."

Laughing, he threw up his hand in air, and obediently followed Wynne to her tent, even though it was utterly ridiculous. He hadn't feel this great for… many, many years.


	15. Face Value

Thank you for all reviews, faves and support! If any of you didin't receive a reply to your review, I apologize - I had a problem with it for a few days.

Thanks to my amazing beta **Brelaina** for her help. :)

* * *

**Face Value**

The next few days were not very pleasant. Leliana and Alistair still were not on speaking terms. Which meant Leliana was most of the time walking with Airam. Which made him quite irritated. Wynne's attempts to reason with the Chantry boy and Leliana had exactly the opposite effect. Morrigan was even worse, insinuating that he was jealous. Him, jealous. How utterly ridiculous. He was just bored, as he tried to explain to her, but she laughed at him. So the last three days he walked at the rear of their group with Sten. But despite his attempts to start a conversation, any conversation on any topic, all he managed to get from the Qunari were several 'No''s.

This made no sense. There was no reason for him to be this irritated only because Airam was talking with someone else. And obviously having good fun. Besides, it was his own fault he did not join those two. None of them told him to stay away. But he couldn't stand Leliana's laughter. She sounded exactly like a hen. He never noticed it before, but it was true. And all that romantic crap she was telling in that over-sweet voice of hers, it was not funny at all. It made his teeth and stomach ache as if he ate a whole jar of jam at once.

He sighed. Well all right, perhaps he was a tiny little bit jealous.

But only because he was missing Airam's company. At least there still were their evening trainings. They were the only bright spots in the otherwise dull days, but it was only one hour during which they had to, well, _train_. Airam was fully focused on his moves and steps, there was no time for idle chat and jokes. That still didn't mean he was in love like Morrigan suggested, yes? After all, the matter of love was one thing in which he and the witch agreed completely on. Love was sentimental nonsense. He thought he was in love once and look how it ended.

No, the only reason for this strange obsession with the crazy kid was lust. After all, he had had no sex for _months_. In the Crows, _one_ month would be considered a punishment and a very harsh one at that. He shuddered. If he didn't do something, he would end up like Leliana. And once it was done, this weird obsession so unfit for an assassin would probably be over. They would have a nice little affair for a few weeks, or perhaps even longer, he wasn't against it. But it would be just that, one of many love affairs he had had. No more, no less.

It should have been easy. All that was necessary to do was to seduce the crazy kid… Airam was quite oblivious to all of his attempts for seduction, but he was sure it was only because he didn't really try. But that _was_ the problem, no? He couldn't make up his mind and really do it. Especially after he found out there probably were some bad experiences in Airam's life. Perhaps it wasn't love, but he certainly did not wish to cause the boy any harm.

He sighed again, glancing towards Airam. Morrigan snickered.

This was ridiculous. He had to solve this mess. In a careful and sensitive way, of course. But it had to be done. As soon as possible.

oOo

The next day Airam finally forced the two fools to talk to each other. Alistair tried to protest, but under Airam's stern glare he stopped quickly. He had to chuckle. It never ceased to amaze him how authoritative the crazy kid could be when he wanted – no wonder they had him helping with the small brats in the Tower. And perhaps it helped him to perfect that glare, as well.

For the rest of them, this extra bit of free time was quite welcome. Nobody was eager to train or do anything useful. Airam retreated to the little pond just a few minutes away from the camp, with a book under his arm. He followed – this was the first time in days that the annoying bard was out of the way and he was not going to miss this chance. But Airam looked so at peace, sitting there and smiling at his book as if it was a beautiful woman, he didn't have the heart to interrupt him. Instead he just sat quietly next to the boy and watched him for a while.

There were some things he would never understand about this boy. He had to read a lot of books during his training, as well – and it was one of the reasons why it was such relief when the training finally ended. Why waste time reading about other people's lives and ideas when it could be spent on living his own life and making his own ideas? Then again, the boy looked so adorable like this. Watching him was quite enjoyable.

Airam put the book aside. "Do you stare like that at everyone?"

"Like what?"

"Like you did just now."

He chuckled. "No, not everyone. Only the most sexy ones."

"There you go again." Airam rolled his eyes and picked up the book again.

"But if it makes you uncomfortable… I will stop."

Airam looked up and their eyes met for a moment. After a second Airam turned away, the tips of his ears turning a lovely shade of pink. "You don't make me uncomfortable," he said quietly.

Why did it make him so fuzzy inside? He had had many lovers, but no one caused this whirl of strange and confusing feelings inside him. It was just lust, he reminded himself, but it wasn't so easy to believe it any more.

"Then I shall redouble my efforts," he said lightly, to get rid of those ridiculous thoughts. "I once knew a dancer in Antiva, and I managed to stare off all seven of her skirts."

"Good thing I don't wear skirts, then." Airam laughed. "Why would anyone wear _seven_ skirts anyway?"

"Have you never seen… ah, why am I even asking? Of course you haven't. I think I will have to take you to a proper whorehouse once. Those are not the ugly woollen dresses that you see on common Fereldan women. Those were the finest silk, delicately wrapped around her, more stressing her beauty then really covering – and why are you smirking like that?"

Airam chuckled. "Because you sound just like Leliana when she was explaining to me why are shoes so important."

"_Shoes_?" He couldn't help grinning, despite the fact he was just compared to the annoying ex-bard ex-sister.

"Yes. Orlesian nobles wear silk shoes, see. With rich embroidery or a ribbon on the front. There was much more about them but she lost me there. I'm afraid I'm not the right person for a discussion on the finer points of fashion."

Yes, he could clearly picture Leliana talking in great detail about shoes. But told in Airam's dry tone, it sounded just ridiculous. _And __here __I __thought __who __knows __what __fun __they __were __having __together_. He must have looked too pleased, because Airam tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"What? Don't tell me silk shoes are some horrible _double __entendre_ and I missed it?"

He laughed heartily. "No, no. I assure you, silk shoes are just that, a horrible expression of bad taste and impracticality. But if you find some double entendre there, let me know, yes? I would like to hear that one."

"Tch. It's just that one can never be sure, with you and Leliana," said Airam accusingly. "Now if you don't have anything else, I'd like to continue reading. I'm sure even those two won't take much longer and we'll be on our way soon."

"By all means." He shrugged and Airam picked up his book again. For a moment he just watched him – stared, as Airam had said, and doing his best at it, as well. But the crazy kid was determined to ignore him. It was most irritating. After a while he leaned over the boy's shoulder. It wasn't one of his spell books, he could say that immediately – those had big complicated pictures and diagrams and formulas.

"What is it you're reading? It must be very interesting if you're so eager to read it. Some new forgotten school of magic?"

"If it was forgotten, there wouldn't be a book about it," snapped Airam.

"What is it, then?"

"A book I borrowed from Wynne. You wouldn't care about it. So can you – hey, give it back!"

He danced away, avoiding Airam's clumsy attempts to get the book back, laughing. It was most unusual that the crazy kid didn't want to say what it was about. Normally he would describe it with shining eyes. So he had no other choice than to take it and check by himself, yes? He flipped through the book, opening it at a random page and started to read.

"Ehm-hm. Let's see. '"_Ah, __come, __my __fair __lady. __I __see __you'__re __in n__eed __of __a __good __visit __from __my __codpiece, __once __again," __says __Garren.__' _Ohoho, what's this? I had no idea you had such racy books with you!"

"No – that's not – just give it back!" Airam was really blushing now – really blushing, more even than Alistair. He didn't think he ever saw him blush like this before. So of course he couldn't stop. It was too much fun.

"My dear Airam, I am truly hurt! I would think you would have shared this with me, no? And besides, I could tell you many more of such stories, if you wish, and in better quality than this – " he turned the book to read the name – "_Rose __of __Orlais_. I can promise you that. Or I could even give you some first-hand experience, should you wish."

"When pigs fly," snapped Airam, the wide grin belying his angry tone. "Now give it back or I swear I'll freeze you. And don't you dare mentioning this to anyone."

It probably wouldn't be wise to provoke the boy further – he had no wish to spend another hour or two as an ice statue. With dramatic sigh he bowed deeply and returned the book. "As you command, my fearless commander. But my offer stands, yes? I promise to tell you only the best stories I know. Most of them based on my own experience."

"Oh do shut up. I only took – borrowed – this from Wynne because I've read everything else already. I didn't know what it was about, but I hate leaving books unfinished. That's all there is about it. So you can wipe that stupid grin off your face."

"You've read all the other books? Including those in Bodahn's cart?"

"There are _no_ books in Bodahn's cart, because _someone_ insisted we should stock more ham instead," snarled Airam angrily. "And that we will find _other_ books on our way – but as you surely know, we _didn__'__t_."

Oh. Yes, he did say that, didn't he? He had completely forgotten about that. He tried to feel guilty, but found he couldn't stop grinning. "So now it is all my fault, yes? Such terrible accusations. I am truly hurt, you know. I was only trying to help. Correct me if I don't remember it right, but was I not promised love for my fealty?"

"What fealty, you silly assassin? You swore you would _remain __silent_. And you haven't stop talking nonsense ever since."

"Ah, your words wound me more than a darkspawn blade. But, should you prefer me to be a silent companion, I shall do so."

"You, a silent companion?" Airam smirked. "I bet you wouldn't be able to remain silent for one day."

It was clearly a challenge and he would be damned to let it just pass. "Oho. You _bet_? And if I prove you wrong?"

"Then you can tell me one of those stories of yours everyday, until we reach Orzammar. But if you lose, you will ask Wynne to tell you some of hers stories – and you will be so convincing and irresistible that she will gladly do so until we reach Orzammar. And you must not cheat – no hiding away from the others till the rest of the day. All right?"

"Ah, what a devious mind you have. I like that. Very well, I agree." There was no way he would lose, especially with so much at stake – they would not reach the dwarven city for at least another week and he'd much prefer to spend them in the company of a crazy kid than in the company of a crazy old bat.

They shook their hands with solemn faces and returned to the camp. Alistair and Leliana came out shortly later, both looking grim but determined.

Airam quirked his brow. "All solved? You don't look very happy."

"Of course. Do not worry about it any more. We solved it all, right, Alistair?"

"Right. Well at least as much as it could," snapped Alistair.

He bit off the remark he wanted to say. Alistair glanced at him suspiciously. "What's wrong with him? I'd think he would have some stupid comment about it."

"I have no idea," said Airam in worried tone. "He's been like that all morning. I tried to find out but he's not responding at all. I wanted to ask you for help, in fact. Maybe he'll speak to one of you?"

Blasted little cheater.

oOo

He won. Barely. It was a real pain to remain silent, as the crazy kid was really doing his best to make him speak. But half an hour of Wynne's questioning and preaching was enough to give him all determination he needed. If he had to endure that for a week, he'd run away back to the Crows.

It was entirely worth it, however, especially as they had a little detour on their way to Orzammar.

They practically walked into the battle of a large group of darkspawn and some refugees. Mostly farmers, only a few of them had proper armour or weapons and even fewer knew how to use them. If they hadn't appeared, none of those people would survive. Even for them, it wasn't an easy battle. If they didn't have three powerful mages with them…

The leader of the refugees explained that they wanted to make a new settlement there. They couldn't have chosen a worse place. The Archdemon was perhaps not much of a strategist, but even a third-class general would understand the strategic importance of controlling the Gerlen's Pass – even their little leader understood that, for Maker's sake! Sten clearly thought the man was a fool and didn't try very hard to hide it.

Anyone else would think they already did enough saving their lives and healing them, no? But their little leader was not anyone. And so it was decided – despite Morrigan's protests and Sten's silent fury – that they would go with the refugees until they reach some safer place near the coast. It meant _going __back_ at least for three days and then returning here once again. He was most surprised that Wynne didn't protest – he would expect her to be against such delay, but she didn't say anything. Of course, Leliana and Alistair immediately agreed with the crazy kid, though Alistair seemed annoyed when he realised he had the same opinion as the traitorous bard.

He, of course, supported Airam. It really didn't matter so much if they reached Orzammar now or three days later. Erwin also recommended they act like heroes – and this was foolish enough to be considered heroic, no? Besides, he was sure Orzammar was not going to be much fun; from what he heard, it would be another round of boring negotiations with nobles. It meant he would have less time to be with Airam. So any delay was not really such a bad thing, as he saw it.

Leliana and Wynne found new victims for their _education_. His guess was the refugees suffered it only because they were worried Airam wouldn't help them if they refused. But who knew, maybe there were some people that it brought some consolation to. The Maker never seemed to care for him so he never cared much for the Maker as well. Sometimes he wished he was able to believe, to have Leliana's strong faith that everything has some sense, that everything was a part of some bigger plan the Maker had for the world, even if it was not understandable to people now. It sounded good, his eyes remained blind and his heart shut closed, as she accused him once.

Oh well. At least it meant he had Airam all to himself. He even took care to have his watch always right before or after the boy. Then they could be together all that time as well. Telling stories about Antiva or the Circle. Airam was both a great audience and a great narrator. How often they had to struggle not to burst out laughing and wake up the whole camp! Morrigan noticed and duly commented, of course. As if that meant he was _in __love_ with him. It only meant the crazy kid was the most fun of the lot.

But he still didn't find the courage to make an advance on Airam. He really wanted to... and not. Something told him that if he did, he would spoil everything and ruin that strange bond between them.

oOo

After they finally left the refugees at a relatively safer place, they and hurried to Orzammar as fast as possible. There were no more adventurers, if you didn't count a few of Loghain's mercenaries who probably caught their trail during their detour. Nothing too dangerous, just a minor break in their march.

When they finally reached the Mountain Pass, they found the gates to the dwarven city closed. Naturally. When did anything go according to their plans? It was already late afternoon and they were all tired, so Airam decided to leave arg- eh, negotiations with the gate keeper for the next day and rent a room in an inn in a village.

'Village' was perhaps too grand a word for it. There were only a few houses, a smithy and an inn, all built in the same funny way – with tall pointed roofs, eaves hanging over almost to the ground. He was surprised there were no real shops. The merchants who came to trade opened their stalls under tents. It didn't matter much now, the weather was still nice, but in the winter it had to be terribly cold and uncomfortable, to just stand there and wait till someone appears. Especially as it didn't seem there were many people coming.

There was only one other group of travellers staying in the inn, and it didn't take them long to find out they were the messengers for 'King Loghain'. The fools were complaining loudly about the dwarves – apparently the gate keeper refused to let them in as well. He wished the innkeeper did the same. Alistair almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the title Loghain was now using.

"Can't you wait with murdering them till tomorrow? I'm pretty tired right now, if you don't mind," was the only thing their fearless leader had to say about it.

"We should think of how we will get into the town," suggested Wynne, but Airam just shrugged. "We have treaties with the royal seal on it. I'm sure once the gatekeeper sees them, he will let us enter."

"Then why haven't we used them immediately?" Demanded Sten angrily.

"Because I don't know about you, but I'm not all that eager to enter a city which is built in a cave deep _underground_. It is probably dark and smelly and full of spiders. All caves are like that. Always. Remember that."

He laughed at the crazy kid's wise expression. "Oh? And you know this from your own experience, yes? The Tower is full of caves, I assume?"

"There is one, where Enchanters grow herbs and mushrooms and stuff. I went there, once. _To __kill __spiders_."

"Nonsense. I am sure there are no spiders in Orzammar," said Wynne. "It is an ancient and majestic city. Isn't that so?" She turned to the barmaid who brought them dinner – a stew of nug meat, whatever that was.

"I'm sorry. I have no idea how it is in Orzammar. I've never been there. But it wouldn't surprise me if there were spiders," said the maid indifferently.

"There! I told you. I know we have to go into that hole, but at least we can have a proper rest first, right? So go to sleep early tonight, we'll be getting up early tomorrow. I want to get into the town before those Loghain idiots."

Unfortunately, one of said idiots was passing by their table just at that moment. He stopped and glared at Airam, making a strange grimace. It took him some time to realize the man was probably trying to look menacing. If so, it was a total failure.

"You've got something against us, brat?" He asked loudly. The rest of his friends immediately looked in their direction.

"Me? Not at all." Airam widened his eyes innocently. "What gives you the idea?"

"Don't play stupid. I heard you. You mentioned 'Loghain idiots'. "

They roared in laughter, but the poor confused fool still didn't get it. "And you recognized yourself in that? Why? Is that your name?"

"That is enough!" The leader of the fools strode to their table, and glared at Airam, also trying to look menacing. And failing at it just as splendidly as his lackey. "I don't know who you are, stranger, but you should show more respect. I am Imrek, a messenger for His Majesty, king Loghain, the ruler of Ferelden. We represent the will of your ruler, so –"

"Pleasure to meet you, ser Imrek. Now let me introduce ourselves. I am Airam Surana, a Grey Warden. The guy to my left is also a Grey Warden as well us the rightful heir to the throne, Alistair Theirin. Unlike the old fart, who's only the father of the king's widow – "

He didn't get any further. The fools attacked them. Or rather, they tried. They were paralysed and frozen before they could pull out their weapons. It was some time since he enjoyed kicking someone's asses so much. And judging by the reactions of the others, they enjoyed it just as much.

"You're pathetic just like your false king." Airam glared at Imrek, now kneeling by his feet, held down by Sten. "Go back to Loghain. Tell him the Grey Wardens send their regards. And that he should try a new tactic. The hired wannabe assassins won't work – no offense, Zev. I meant those guys from a few days ago."

"None taken, my friend. But I believe that before you let these fools go, they should pay the damage they caused by provoking this fight, no?"

"Of course. Sten, will you please make sure that they pay for everything? And then see them off. I think they shouldn't waste their time any more. Or ours."

Imrek opened his mouth to say something, but one look at Sten was enough to change his mind. It was true. Sten could be very persuasive when he wanted, even when he didn't say a word.

oOo

It was after dinner, when they retreated to their rooms that he almost ruined everything.

With Imrek and his guys gone, they could take their rooms as well, but even so there were not enough for all of them. They had to sleep in twos – and it was decided he would be in a room with Airam. It caught him off guard. Until then, he was always staying with Sten, if such a situation occurred. Airam was always with Alistair. He had no idea what might have been the cause for the change... but he liked it. Perhaps it meant Airam also wanted the same thing as him, no?

"I'm so tired." Airam threw himself on the bed. "I'm really glad this is the last treaty. All this walking and fighting is getting on my nerves. "

"I might know something that could help," he suggested.

"Hm? An extra strong sleeping potion?"

"No, that is Wynne's area. My solution is... more pleasurable."

"What is it, then?"

"I was thinking of a massage," he said lightly, trying to sound confident. Truth was he had never been that nervous. "An Antivan massage, more precisely."

"An Antivan massage?" Airam sat up and looked at him suspiciously. "What kind of massage is that?"

"The kind one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse," he explained with smile and immediately saw Airam tense. "You do not have to worry. I'm sure the techniques I picked over the years will please you."

"Zev. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

The boy got up and came closer to him. He seemed to be a bit nervous and perhaps even scared, but that was understandable, and it would soon dissolve into pleasure. Or so he thought.

"Answer me, Zevran, Maker damn you. That massage – you're offering yourself for sex with me?"

"Why that worried face? You deserve some fun –"

Airam hit him. Punched him right in the nose. Well now... that definitely wasn't how he imagined this. He backed away a bit, but it didn't seem Airam wanted to hit him again, though he was still angry. Probably offended by such an offer coming from someone like him. It hurt. Much more than his nose.

"I am sorry if I offended you," he said quietly.

"How could you, Zev? Is this is how you see me? Like one of those disgusting Crow masters?"

He stared at him, totally nonplussed. What was that supposed to mean? "Of course not. I just thought you might like to have some fun –"

"And so you offered yourself? Like a slave would to his master? Like some cheap _elven__whore_?" Airam spat those words, as if they were the worst insult in the world. "You're not a slave, Zev. I know the Crows treated you like one, but you're not a Crow any more! You're my friend! And I won't let anyone put you down like this! That includes yourself as well! Do you understand me, Zevran? Don't let me ever hear or see you humiliating yourself like that! Never!"

Strange. It was the first time in his life that angry shouting made him feel... safe. And warm inside. Airam was defending his dignity. He wasn't sure if he had anything like that left, but it still felt good. In fact, never had any rejection felt so good. For the first time in his life, someone saw him as a person. Airam saw him as a person. His Airam valued him for other things than his skills as a whore and a killer. He felt tears pricking in his eyes and blinked.

Airam stopped shouting, suddenly looking worried. "What is it? Does it hurt? Come here, let me heal it."

It took him a few seconds to realize Airam was talking about his _nose_. He chuckled. "Don't worry. It's all right. I've had worse."

"I'm so sorry, Zev. Here I am, talking about not being the same as the Crow Masters and then I hit you." Airam was avoiding his gaze, embarrassed. _Embarrassed_. After saying the most beautiful words anyone had ever told him. He had almost forgotten how impossible this crazy kid could be. He quickly closed the distance between them.

"Please, my friend, don't apologize. I... I deserved it."

Airam looked into his eyes and whatever he saw there made him smile again. "That you did. Silly assassin."

"But I still think we should start working on that terrible temper of yours."

"I _am_ working on it! And I made huge progress already! Or you'd be an ice statue now, you know."

They both laughed in relief. They joked and chatted and played cards as if nothing happened. Only later, when they went to sleep, did he try to sort out the mess in his mind and heart. He... still desired the boy, yes. But he also wanted to protect him, to care for him. To make sure he was happy and safe. Did that mean he was in love? He lay in bed, staring into the darkness. Was this love? If so, it was different from how he imagined it.

He didn't know. He didn't care. As long as he was with him.

The soft whimper from the other bed interrupted his thoughts. He learned long ago that this meant Airam was firmly asleep. And having nightmares again. He got up and moved to the boy's bed. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he gently ran his fingers over the boy's hair. It was strange.

The last time he was sitting like this at someone's bed he had a dagger in his hand. What was the man's name? He couldn't remember. He shivered, suddenly feeling cold. Airam really shouldn't trust him so much. Who was he kidding? He was an assassin. And a whore. What the crazy kid said was nice, but naïve. He was beyond the chance for redemption. It was too late; he could not change.

Airam whimpered again, just as he wanted to leave. He sat down again, gently caressing the boy's cheek.

"Shh. You're safe. I'm here. I'm with you, _amore __mio_."

Perhaps he could at least try.


	16. Blaze of Glory

I am very very sorry that it took me so long. Thanks for all lovely reviews, faves and alerts, and poking. :)

Big thanks to Seika for the beta :)

* * *

**Blaze of Glory**

Three hundred seventy five. That was the number of steps from the entrance, to the great Paragon Hall, as their proud dwarven guide informed them. Of course, that was while they were still paying attention. He was the first one to lose interest in the explanation of Orzammar architecture. The last one was their little leader, of course. Somewhere around step seventy. It was easy for anyone to notice the moment – the boy stopped asking questions, and responded only with an occasional bored 'Mhhm'. _And that_, he thought, _was quite a remarkable achievement._

Although, the Paragon Hall _was_ great and majestic, full of huge statues.

"Why are the statues so... squarish?" asked Airam, who studied them with great interest.

"They represent dwarven people, as we are," said the guide.

Airam looked at the man's round head... round nose... round ears... and big, round belly. "Right. Of course," he said sweetly. "How silly of me, not to see it immediately."

It wasn't easy to keep a straight face, but luckily the guide was not too perceptive. He continued to give them the detailed explanation of Paragons, and the sacred Stone.

Their little leader wanted to interrupt him, but the guide opened the big stone gate and they walked into the city itself.

Despite what the guide told them, he half expected the city to be dark, dirty and full of tiny houses. But this was...magnificent. Not as much as his beloved Antiva city, of course. There were no parks, no gardens, and everything was made of stone, but it was still impressive. And big. The roads were so wide that all in their group could walk side by side, and the big houses had tall doors and windows.

"Do you think dwarves are trying to... _compensate_ for something?" he asked, once the guide had left and couldn't hear him.

Wynne shot him disapproving look. "We had better think of what we should do now."

"First, we should find an inn, and then Zev and Leli should go and see about this chaos that the gatekeeper told us about; I want to know how bad it is and-" Airam stopped, as a nearby group of dwarves started to argue and curse loudly.

Then one of the dwarves lost his patience. "I will not allow you to talk like this about the rightful heir to the throne!" he shouted, and the next second the head of his opponent was rolling down the street.

"... Well. That question is answered, then," said Airam, nervously watching the head. "Let's find an inn."

That proved to be much bigger problem than they expected. Wherever they came, the innkeepers started to shake their heads, saying that they didn't have any available rooms. At first, they thought the dwarves were just suspicious of them because they were strangers;it was obvious that they didn't get many visitors down here, and that they lived isolated from the world on the surface. When they were rejected at the fourth inn, Airam became really annoyed, and marched up to the innkeeper. He gave the man his scariest glare, and demanded an explanation.

"Do not lie to me, and tell me that you don't have any free rooms! I know for sure that the gates were closed and that there are no travellers here besides me and my friends. So there's no way all of the inns would be full!"

"You don't understand, messere. We have rooms, but unfortunately, I doubt they would be suitable for your company."

"Nonsense," snapped Airam. "I assure you, they will be very suitable. We're used to sleeping in all kind of places."

The innkeeper threw his hands up, defeated. "As you wish. Just don't come complaining later."

Airam beamed, and took the keys from the rooms. "Don't worry, we'll manage."

They learned what the problem had been, the moment they stepped into the rooms. Oh, they were clean and neat, and in much better shape than most of the inns at the surface. But...the dwarves weren't used to visitors of other races. So everything was accustomed to dwarven size. The tables, the chairs… the beds. They were wide enough for two, but short. Even his and Airam's feet would stick out of the bottom. Humans would not be able to sleep on it at all; for Sten it was a little more than a settee.

"_Vashedan_! I'm sorry, Sten. I had no idea... I should have known, it makes perfect sense, now that I think of it."

Sten's lips twitched into the slightest hint of a smile. "It is not your fault, Kadan. Do not worry."

They had to join the beds together. The innkeeper didn't like it at first; he kept grumbling that if new guests came, he wouldn't have free beds any more, but the few extra coins quickly changed his mind. Airam insisted on paying it from his private money. The innkeeper assured them that they would have the same problem in any inn in the city, but the crazy kid still took it as his personal failure as a leader.

Leliana offered to go and find out more about the situation in Orzammar - in last few days she had been trying hard to prove how useful she was. He suspected it was mostly for Alistair's sake, but as long as she was willing to do extra work, he didn't really care. Like now. She went to do her spying, which gave him he free time to train his little Warden. Who was suspiciously eager, as well.

"Good! There's something I want to show you! I've been working on it for last two weeks and I think I finally figured out how to – well, you'll see! And I bet you won't be able to defeat me!"

"Oho, those are very bold words! Hm. All right, I accept the bet. But if you lose, you have to cook for two weeks. Starting the day we're out of here again."

"Deal! Same for you, then."

The others didn't have any complaints. They didn't have Wynne's skill at cooking, but they were not as bad as Alistair, either. Or Sten. _And_ it meant that both the Chantry boy and the Qunari would skip two turns. Morrigan approved, and loudly informed everyone nearby about it.

"It's the first time I'll try it in a real fight," explained Airam, eyes shining with excitement, as they walked to the backyard. "So have patience with me, will you? Wait till I say I'm ready. I know the enemies wouldn't wait till I'm ready, but you wait."

_What is he going to try? Another thing he learned from memories of that spirit?_ He was quite curious, but he didn't show it, of course. "All right. Just this once. But don't leave me trembling in fear too long," he said mockingly.

Airam smiled. "Oh, don't worry, Zev, I promise I'll try not to hurt you too badly."

Tch. Crazy kid. He smirked and readied his daggers. "Bring it on, oh mighty Warden."

But the boy didn't react. For a while, he just stood there, silently and with closed eyes, completely focused on whatever it was he was doing. They had a rule – no improving weapons with spells and enchantments, so he knew Airam wasn't doing that; he took his training too seriously to break the rules like that.

Finally, the crazy kid opened his eyes and smirked. "All right, Zev. Come at me with everything you have."

Morrigan giggled.

Irritated, he attacked the boy with more force than he originally intended – but there was no need to worry. Airam easily pared his attack. And the next one, too. Then the next. After every time, his smirk grew wider and more smug.

"I'm disappointed, Zev. You better start taking me seriously, or the Crows will be the laughing stock of the whole of Ferelden."

"Not bad, not bad at all. You're now at the level of a Crow apprentice after a full year of training... that is, at the level of an eight-year-old."

"But how is he doing it? He wasn't this good last time I saw," asked Alistair, surprised.

Airam wanted to answer, but Sten cut in. "He trained," he said dryly.

_Who would have thought that the Qunari has the sense of humour_. He chuckled at the surprised look at the Wardens' faces. And used the opportunity to attack Airam. If the crazy kid thought he was on the level of a Crow, then a bit of dirty fighting should not be a problem any more. But Airam really was much better than just yesterday. He was faster, stronger, and avoided his attacks with ease. Wanting to test it further, he started to fight seriously, almost like with an equal.

Soon they had much larger audience, as the innkeeper and his family, staff and many guests in the inn came to watch, intrigued by the clash of weapons. The only one who did not come to watch, was Wynne. Even better, as far as he was concerned. But some of the people were observing his little Warden _too_ carefully. He didn't like it; he didn't like it at all. It made him nervous and eager to end it.

That was bit too much for the boy. "Whoa! You finally decided to kill me, did you?" he asked, scrambling back to his feet after one particularly harsh attack.

"Ah, no need to worry, my friend. You still have to cook for two weeks, no? Until that time, you're safe."

"I'm not defeated yet!"

"No. You fought well, but it ends now." He folded his arms, trying to look as authoritative as possible. "And don't talk back to me, or you'll be doing sit-ups till morning."

Airam quirked his brow, but he didn't argue. "All right, all right. But I still say I'd win if we continued, so you'll be my aid for whole two weeks. And don't talk back to me, or you'll be Alistair's aid as well."

"Hey!" protested Alistair, as they walked back into the inn. "I didn't do anything; I even stayed quiet this time. What are you punishing _me_ for?"

"What punishment? You would have the sly assassin at your command! Don't tell me it's not what you always secretly wanted."

"That was quite a show, Wardens," said one of the dwarves. He was one of them that had observed the fight too carefully. "Would you care for some more fun? I could arrange few duels for you, if you'd like –"

"We're not here for fun," said Sten. The dwarf looked up at him, and hesitated for a moment, before he went on.

"It would not be for free, of course, there's a nice reward if you win."

"We appreciate your offer, but our stay in Orzammar will be short, and our days too busy for that kind of fun," explained Airam politely.

The man didn't want to give up so easily, and followed them upstairs to their rooms. He would probably get in as well, if Sten hadn't decided to stand outside the door. "The room is too small for all of us," he declared with that hint of a smile again.

_Well now. Few more months and he will probably laugh out loud_. But right now he had more urgent thing to think about, yes?

"Explain," he demanded, once the door shut behind them.

Airam beamed. "It was great, wasn't it? I altered the normal flow of energy during the casting, first I desynchronized the cycles of reflection and materialization –"

"I said _explain_, not _make it more complicated_," he interrupted with a sigh. "You know very well that I don't understand magic. Keep it simple."

"Oh. Sorry. It means… uh… I transubstantiated my magic –"

"You what?" blurted Alistair.

_Thank the Maker the Chantry boy is here_. He'd feel like a total idiot if he had to ask again. Morrigan giggled.

"What he means is that he changed the very basics of how his magic works, changed it into something completely else," she explained, with a hint of awe in her voice.

"Yes," agreed Airam. "To put it very simple, I used my magic to become a warrior. Instead of casting spells, I refocused my magic energy to become stronger and faster."

"And what if you wanted to cast something during the fight?" he asked, still not sure he understood.

Airam shrugged. "No idea. I've never tried it in fight before. I _think_ it would be possible, but it would probably take longer, depending on the spell."

"What about healing spells?" asked Alistair. "Would you be able to heal during such a fight?"

"I don't know. One person, probably yes. A whole group? That would take some time. I'd have to stop fighting and re-focus again," admitted Air. "But I'm sure the more I practice, the easier it will be to cast during fight. This was only the first try, after all," he added quickly.

Morrigan giggled again. " 'Tis quite possible indeed," she said with an amused smirk. "That would mean that to become a better fighter, you need only to become a better mage. You do not need the assassin's training any more."

A cold dread filled him. _Brasca_. He didn't realize it immediately – but it was true, of course. This was the first time Airam tried it. After a few more times, he _would_ win. If he was this strong and dexterous he would finally be able to try some of the more complicated moves that he had seen in the spirit's memories. _Think, Zevran. Find some reason why he can't stop training. _Not that he wasn't happy for Airam, but… well, he wasn't. No reason to lie. He didn't want their training to stop. It was his favourite hour of whole day.

"But if it is magic, the Templar could dispel it, no?" He asked the first thing that made a bit of sense.

"I don't know," shrugged Airam. "But –"

"I could try it," cut in Alistair with a smirk. "Even right now."

"Try it and you're dead," snapped Airam. "_But_ –"

"But, you're going to practice it until 'tis so perfect no Templar can use it?" offered Morrigan with another amused smirk.

_Damned witch_. _Next time she changes into a raven, I'll pluck all the feathers off of her. _He threw a murderous side glance at her, but she just smirked again.

"Of course," Airam sounded exasperated now. "But –"

"But it will take some time until it's perfect, so it wouldn't be wise to rely only on that, and stop training, yes?" he interrupted.

"_BUT_, if any of you interrupts me again, you'll have a freezing night!" snarled Airam, now really angry. "I wanted to say, that if I improve my fighting skills without magic and then use this, I would be soon stronger than the Archdemon itself! Well, at least I think so. So, I have no intention to stop training. In fact, I want to train even harder. You'll help me, Zev, won't you?"

It was really scary thought. He really shouldn't feel so relieved by the prospect of helping Airam to become totally overpowered… but he could care less. All that mattered was that he would be still able to spend time with his little Warden.

"Of course I will," he said fondly. Morrigan giggled again, but he chose to ignore her completely. "We'll test this in few real battles first. But you must promise me that you will not try to fight like this alone, yes? At least until we're sure if you can heal yourself, and how Templar skills will affect it. And even when you're not alone, wait till I allow you to use it."

Airam sighed. "You're such a killjoy," he complained. "I want to become an arcane warrior – that's the name I gave it, what do you think about it? It sounds good, no? But yes, I think what you say makes sense. I wouldn't want any of you to get hurt because of it."

"Yes, yes, so caring," chuckled Alistair. "Why don't I believe it? Perhaps because you threatened us with your magic just few moments ago?"

"That, my dear Alistair, is quite different. _I_ am your leader, so it's my duty to discipline you if you misbehave," snapped the crazy kid haughtily. "But enough of this idle chat. I'm starved! Let's order some food and have lunch. I just hope the dishes are not half size, too."

It was good to know that their fearless leader had the right priorities.

oOo

The food was a satisfying amount and quite good; the ale was the best he ever had. Even the maids were pretty. Soon they were all in very good moods. Even Wynne relaxed a bit. Naturally, such a miracle could not last long. She was in the middle of a rare story that contained griffons, and was surprisingly funny – then again, maybe it was just ale – when Leliana returned. One look at her grim face was enough to ruin the mood and sober them completely.

Airam sighed. "Why do I have the feeling that you don't bring good news?"

"It might not be good news, but it's not hopeless, either."

"Meaning?"

"You will need to present your request to the Assembly – that is something like the Landsmeet in Ferelden. However, only the king has the authority to approve the treaty, and there is no king right now. Meaning, my dear Warden Commander, that you can get your army, but you will have to crown a new king of Orzammar first."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

"I thought you said it was not hopeless," complained Airam weakly, when his ability to speak returned.

Leliana smiled. "It is not. They only have two candidates for throne. It shouldn't be that difficult to choose which one you'll support. Were this in Orlais, or Antiva, there'd be at least two dozens of candidates."

Their fearless leader was still unconvinced. "But I know nothing about dwarves! All I know is that they are not aware that they look like walking snowmen, have the funniest looking beds I've ever seen and good food."

"Do not worry. You have an Antivan Crow and an Orlesian bard in your team, no? We will help you with the politics. Now, the first candidate is the prince Bhelen, son of the late king –"

"Then it's pretty clear, no? He's the heir, he will rule," said Airam quickly. "Problem solved!"

"Yes, but the other candidate is Lord Harrowmont, who was his father's best friend. The late king himself, apparently said he wanted him to rule instead of his youngest son. You see, he was only the third in line. But approximately half a year ago, the crown prince was murdered. The second in line, princess Sereda was found standing over his body. She tried to defend herself, claiming that it was Bhelen's trap, but there was no way to prove that she spoke the truth. She was stripped of her rank and sent to her death in the Deep Roads."

"I say let's make him the king. At least he proved that he's willing to do whatever is necessary. 'Tis what the Wardens do, is it not?" asked Morrigan. Alistair winced.

"So, the second candidate, this lord Harrow-something, he's the one that the late king wanted to rule? What's the catch, then?"

"The catch is that there is no proof about it, besides his own word. No one was there with him when the old king died. And he died rather suddenly. Official version is that the death of his two children broke him, but…"

Airam sighed. "So both of them are suspected murderers. No wonder they can't choose. How am _I_ supposed to do it?"

"Maybe Zevran can help with it," suggested Alistair innocently. "He's the only one here with any experience in murdering people."

"Ah, that is true, my friend. But I am sure there are also other reasons why the king was not chosen yet, no?"

"Zevran is right," confirmed Leliana. "These suspicions are only the official reasons. The truth is, Bhelen is ambitious. He wants to return the dwarven kingdom to its past glory, beyond the borders of Orzammar. Those that see that as opportunity to increase their business, support him – that is, mainly merchants. Harrowmont wants to keep things as they are now, and he's supported by people who feel their position and influence would be threatened if Orzammar opened to other countries."

Sten frowned. "You _basra_ have strange ways to rule your country. Do you see now, Kadan, what madness and chaos it causes, when people live without the order that the Qun brings?"

For a moment they all stiffened, expecting another rant on _How Qun Brings Order, Stability And Safety To Any Society That Accepts It_. Lately Sten had a habit of starting on it, whenever he thought that ways of other races were inferior. As half of their group were mages, and preferred not to have their lips sewn together, it was always a complete waste of time. Though it would be interesting to see anyone attempting to do that to Morrigan. From safe distance, of course.

This time, Airam just waved it away. "We don't have time for religious discussions right now, Sten. We need to find a way to solve this so we can defeat the Blight as quickly as possible, no?"

The Qunari really smiled this time. "You're not as shallow as you seem," he declared.

Airam blinked. "Thank you. I'm not sure if that's supposed to be a compliment, but I'll pretend it is," he said, heroically trying to ignore the snickers of Morrigan and Alistair. "Back to the topic, if you don't mind. So what do my two great advisors suggest? Who should I support and _how_? I can't just walk in to their estate and say 'Give me the army and I'll support you to be the king'… or can I?"

"You can, but they'd have no reason to take you seriously," explained Leliana patiently. "No, it will be much better to let _them_ come to _you, _yes? For that, you need to be famous. Being the Grey Warden won't be enough. You need to be famous by dwarven conditions. That is, you have to be known as a strong warrior. The dwarves honour fighting skills above everything else. And you need to be famous before the next meeting of Assembly. Which is in three days."

Airam laughed. "That was an excellent joke, Leli. And now, please, talk seriously."

"I was talking seriously."

"Then you better think of something else. This is not possible."

_But it is, no? In fact it is more than possible. And at least the crazy kid will have an opportunity to test his new ability. _"Isn't it wonderful how things work out this way?" he asked. "You don't know it yet, Leliana, but our fearless leader is also a mighty Arcane Warrior."

The said fearless leader gave him one of his scariest glares. Too bad it didn't work on him any more. This suddenly looked like a lot of fun.

oOo

The dwarf that tried to recruit Airam earlier turned out to be a Proving Armsman, training young noble dwarves for the _Trials of Blood_. It was a tournament, the dwarf explained, the greatest one in the kingdom. Seeing as it was also the only one, it wasn't all that impressive, but he decided against saying that aloud. The dwarf was thrilled when he heard that the Warden Commander himself wished to participate; not so much when he insisted they wanted to see the opponents first. Blight or not, he was not going to throw Airam against trained warriors of unknown skills.

He calmed down when he saw the fighters. They were not that good, on a level of hurlocks, more or less. Their equipment was a bit better and they _were_ strong, but most of the time their tactics only included letting an angry roar, and then rushing at their enemies while brandishing their huge axes. In fact, he felt a bit sorry for them. Airam was not a warrior, but he _was_ the fearless, ruthless, crazy leader of their party. He had plenty of real battle experience by now, and knew how to avoid being hit by much bigger and stronger enemies. These young nobles, on the other hand, had probably never even seen a darkspawn before. Or elves.

Besides, the Armsman explained that the only rule in these fights was that the weapons and armours could not be enchanted; other than that, anything was allowed. Including magic. And that meant that if it proved too difficult to defeat the dwarves by blades, Airam could always switch back to magic.

It also meant that Airam needed new armour. Trying to find one that would fit his lithe build in Orzammar would be a waste of time, and there was no time for making a new one. Good thing Bodahn was not far away. A few hours later, they could choose from a dozen or so leathers. They would need a bit of tweaking, to really fit Airam's style, but any of them superior to what Orzammar merchants stored. Naturally, Bodahn was well aware of the fact, and didn't miss the opportunity to ask for a ridiculous price – he was only asking for his part of the profit he would make if the armour was sold, he explained.

"I think we should have a talk," said Wynne when she heard about it, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Give me a moment."

An hour and half later, she calmly informed them that the armour was for free. Who would have thought that her ranting could actually be useful? He felt bit more friendly towards her immediately. But knowing Wynne, he was sure that it wouldn't last long; he'd soon hate her again.

They spent the rest of the day waiting till the smith adjusted the armour, and sparring with Airam until he was so tired he couldn't stand on his feet any more. Only then did he have mercy on the little Warden, on the condition that he would not stay up late that night reading or studying. And as they were sharing the room again, he would be able to make sure Airam complied.

"Slave driver," murmured the boy angrily when they finally retreated for a night, and he confiscated all the books and locked them in his chest.

"You'll be grateful for it tomorrow. I'm waking you before sunrise, to train with your armour on. It's different than the robes; you'll have to learn how to move and fight in it. I still think it would be easier if you didn't wear the leggings. There's a reason why apprentices don't wear them, yes?"

"I'm _not_ fighting half-naked," snapped Airam, "and I don't want to hear about it ever again."

He tried to convince himself he was only disappointed because he had Airam's best interest in mind. It didn't really work.

oOo

The fight was not in the main arena, but there were still about three hundred people that came to watch. At first, Airam didn't suspect anything. He was convinced that the people came to watch some other fight. Especially when he heard excited discussions about different fighters and bets who would make it into the tournament; he even commented what a pity it was they couldn't watch, at least he would learn bit more about how dwarves fight. It was only when some dwarf loudly commented that _the surfacer didn't stand any chance, Warden or not_, when he stopped.

"Excuse me. What did you say about the Warden?"

"Where did you come from, a nug shed? He applied for the preliminary rounds for the Trial of Blood."

"I did _what_? _Zevran Arainai!_ Any last words before I kill you? Preferably about what is this supposed to mean."

Leliana murmured something about the toilet and disappeared, quickly followed by others. Airam stared after them incredulously. "They knew? They knew, didn't they? So I was the only fool kept in dark? When did you plan to tell me?"

"In a few minutes, in fact. Come, let's go to the dressing room we were given, and I'll explain. You can kill me then, should you wish, but I do recommend to wait till the fight is over, yes?"

Airam nodded and silently followed him to the room. "I'm listening," he said coldly when they were alone.

"They are the same four fights you agreed with. We – me and Leliana, we're the main culprits, but the others knew and agreed – we just didn't want you to get nervous about the audience. It is supposed to make you famous, so it cannot be private, yes? But we thought it would be easier for you, that if you knew you'd be too nervous to sleep and relax, and both. I swear to you, we didn't try to deceive you."

"I see. But please don't do such thing again. _Never_." Airam's voice sounded more disappointed than angry. A cold dread filled him. Anger he could deal with. Even if Airam freezed him, he wouldn't mind. The boy had every right to do it. But if he lost his friendship and trust...

"I... of course. Forgive me. I didn't mean-"

The boy waved his hand. "I know you didn't. So, how many people are here?" he asked with a pained grin.

He felt as if huge stone fell from his heart. "Not so many. Three hundred at most."

He didn't think Airam could get any more pale, but somehow he managed it. "I'm not sure if I can do this, Zev. How am I supposed to fight with all of them _watching_ me?"

"Of course you can do this. You fought in front of audience already. Yesterday, for example. And you did more than well."

"But that was _different_," insisted Airam. "Yesterday I was fighting with _you_."

He quirked his brow. "And how does that make it different? There were still people _watching_ you."

Airam's ears blushed a little. "Because, it made me forget about them. I was only thinking about –" he stopped, embarrassed. "About the fight," he finished lamely.

It caused a whirl of emotions in him. But there was no time to ponder about it right now. "Then do the same thing today. Focus only on the fight. Once you'll start fighting, it will be easy, you'll see."

The boy still didn't seem convinced.

"Look," he continued, "I wouldn't approve this if I didn't think you can do it. Go there and kick their assess. You'll be ridiculously awesome, and everyone will ask in awed admiration, 'Where did you learn to fight like that?' And then I'll proudly tell them that it was from me, of course. Yes?"

That finally made the boy smile a little. "You and a few thousand years old spirit," he grinned. "All right. I don't have much chance, anyway. But don't think I'll forgive you this so easily. I _will_ punish you, I just don't know how yet. But it will be equally terrible as this mess. You'll suffer for weeks."

"Naturally. I do not expect anything less," he chuckled. "I might help you with ideas, if you wish. But come, we need to get you ready. Your fight will start in less than an hour."

oOo

One thing he always admired about Airam, was how well he could hide his emotions. Nobody would guess that this boy didn't like performing in front of an audience. If anything, most of the dwarfs must have thought that he was a reckless and arrogant brat. When the Armsman warned them, before the beginning, that in the preliminary fights it was not allowed to kill the opponent, the crazy kid sighed dramatically.

"Ah, that will be difficult. Wardens fight to kill, you see."

The other fighters didn't like it, but did Airam care? Of course not. He was practically asking for trouble. And dwarves were not ones to ignore something like that.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the preliminary fights, where it will be decided who will have the honour to fight in the Trials of Blood! This time we have a special guest who wishes to participate in the tournament! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Commander of Grey Wardens!" announced the Armsman.

Airam walked into the arena, beaming and waving, as if he was already a Champion of Orzammar. Where did the nervous side of him disappear to? He chuckled and turn to Leliana to comment on it, when the Armsman continued.

"In the first round, he will face two young fighters, sons of houses Garal and Hrildan! May the better one win! Let the battle begin!"

_What_?

"I thought this was supposed one on one fight," said Wynne coldly.

"It is not unusual to have one against two." The Armsman smirked. "I thought the Warden Commander is an experienced fighter. What is one more enemy to someone like him?"

"He _is_ an experienced fighter, but that is not a reason for cheating," pointed Alistair.

"Now, now, cheating is an ugly word. It was merely a misunderstanding."

_If Airam gets hurt, I'll tear this arena down_. "And lanthrax is an ugly poison," he said dryly.

The Armsman folded his arms. "Are you threatening me?"

_Yes, you walking ball of grease, I am._ "I merely want to avoid future misunderstandings, yes?"

" 'Tis starting," warned Morrigan. They all turned to the arena again.

The two dwarves already readied their weapons. Airam, however, just stood there, not moving at all. The dwarves exchanged glances, obviously unsure what to do.

"What is he doing? Why is he just standing there like that?" asked Alistair nervously.

"He's casting," answered Wynne. "Wasn't he going to fight with daggers?"

"Maybe he changed his mind -"

"Are you two going to attack me, or do you want to simply admire me?" Airam's voice resounded through the arena. "Why don't you surrender so we can go –"

Where he wanted to go, they never found out, as the dwarves roared and rushed forward. They swung their axes, but it didn't connect; the weapons seemed to bounce back.

"Shield," murmured Wynne. "Efficient, but constantly draws magic energy."

"But isn't he using his energy to fight?" he asked.

Morrigan nodded. "He must end this quickly, or..."

She didn't finish, but her meaning was clear - if the crazy kid didn't end it soon, he wouldn't have any energy left, neither for fighting, nor for casting. He frowned. This was not good at all. But there was nothing he could do, except to watch.

Airam was fighting as if he had all the time in the world, leisurely parrying all the attacks. After every failed attack, the dwarves became more and more frustrated and confused, almost berserk.

"Clever," murmured Sten.

_But too risky_. He clenched his teeth. He could understand why Airam did it; it was similar strategy that he used when he was fighting Sten. But back then he was using his magic. Hm. The best way would be to take them one by one. But not directly. Trick them. The one to the left one first, he's faster but weaker and less skilled. And then focus on the other one. Alone, he shouldn't be that much of a problem.

Airam turned to the guy at the right.

_No, not him, the other one! Brasca! _He sighed. No, their fearless leader definitely wasn't a tactician. Ah well. As long as it worked, yes? And it _did_ work. The dwarf shrieked in pain. A bit too much, in fact. The kick in the groin was unexpected, but it shouldn't hurt that much, in plate armour. Unless –

Leliana gasped "Did he just –"

"Use a freeze spell? Yes," confirmed Wynne, trying hard to sound reproachful, but her lips twitched in smile.

Alistair winced. "_That_ was _cruel._"

"But 'twas effective," snapped Morrigan. "And hopefully it means there will be a few less fools in this world."

The dwarf's enthusiasm for the fight vanished completely; he obviously wanted to have it finished as soon as possible, so he could go and check the damage. The angry and mocking shouts and laughs from the audience probably were not helping, either. He attacked Airam, but his movements were clumsy and slow. The boy sidestepped easily, and kicked him to the shin. The dwarf staggered, but managed to keep his footing. Before he could straighten, however, Airam hit his back with the hilt of the dagger. He fell on hands and knees, almost cutting off his left hand by his own axe.

"So what happens now? Do you surrender or do I need to beat you until you're nearly dead? I'm sorry, but I don't know dwarven customs," said the crazy kid merrily.

"I surrender," replied the dwarf. The audience booed and laughed; someone threw what looked like a big half-eaten leg quarter of some animal. It landed right on the head of the poor dwarf. The audience laughed again and praised the good aim. Then other things landed just centimetres from the dwarf as he quickly ran out of the arena.

The other dwarf watched in horror, but Airam didn't pay any attention to it any more. Once again, he was standing quietly, deeply focused on something.

"He cancelled the shield," explained Wynne. "He's probably running out of energy."

_Brasca_. If it was true, it was bad. Very bad. Especially as the other dwarf looked really mad now.

"You are going to pay for that, surfacer!"

"Actually, I was told that the winner gets the money, not that he has to pay," quipped the crazy kid with a chuckle.

But the fight wasn't easy. Without the shield, Airam had to be much more careful. The dwarf was determined to avenge his friend and to prove to the audience that he was a proper fighter. Luckily, Airam was a bit faster and was able to avoid his blows, though it was a very close call at times. The dwarf was becoming impatient again, his blows wider and stronger. If it continued much longer, Airam would be in real danger.

The boy realized it too, and tried to sidestep the dwarf and get behind him. But the dwarf realized what he was trying to do and turned, blowing his axe. Airam shrieked in pain, and fell on his knees, dropping his daggers, rivulets of blood was flowing down his left arm. Certain in his victory, the dwarf lifted his axe for finishing blow.

_No, he can't – it's forbidden – but he'll kill him!_ "_NO_! Airam!" If Sten didn't grab him, he'd jump from the balcony right into the arena.

Literally in the last second, Airam rolled a bit away and grabbed his daggers. The axe landed at the place where his head was just a second ago.

The dwarf cried in rage. "There's nowhere to escape! Surrender now, surfacer, or I will kill you!" He turned to Airam to hit again. But this time, Airam was ready. With a desperate cry, he drove his dagger into the dwarf's right thigh – the only place in his reach that wasn't protected by plate armour. _Impressive_.

Airam pulled out his dagger and picked up the other one and quickly got up. The dwarf was still standing and unwilling to admit defeat, but when he tried to attack, Airam stabbed again, this time in the right arm.

"Surrender," he said calmly. "If you fight like this, you'll cripple yourself for life."

He was right. And the dwarf realized it, as well. "I surrender."

"And the winner is – the Grey Warden!" announced the Armsman. The audience was too annoyed, and only a few clapped and cheered. Airam bowed a little, and then slowly walked to the entrance of the Arena.

They all quickly ran to meet him. He was sitting on the floor, leaning on the door to the arena. Wynne immediately gave him some potions and started to check his wound.

"You know, Zev," said the boy wearily, after he drank two bottles of lyrium potion, "I'm happy you believe in me so much. But the next time, please feel free to underestimate me."

oOo

The other three fights were not as bad, as they were allowed to fight as a team. Airam's injury was not as bad as it seemed at first, and after Wynne's healing he was able to fight again. Against him, Sten, Morrigan and Leliana, the dwarves didn't really stand a chance. It was a pity that he could not fight by Airam's side, but as he was registered as the team's trainer, it wasn't possible. And it also helped to calm down Alistair. It would not be appropriate for a future king to participate in events like this; he knew it and understood it, but it was still difficult for him to accept it, when everyone was having so much fun.

But it had the desired effect. The rumours of a group of surfacers, who were better in fighting than dwarves spread quickly across the town, and the exotic looking Warden Commander soon became the favourite of the audience.

The evening before their planned visit to the Assembly, the innkeeper came to tell them that they had a visitor. Vartag Gavorn, a lieutenant of the prince Bhelen would like to see them.


	17. Paragon of Drinking

Their stay in Orzammar is becoming too long. What can I say. Writing it is actually more fun than playing it. xD

Thanks to wonderful Seika for her help and comments. :)

* * *

**Paragon of Drinking**

He gave the boy one last, critical look. After a long discussion with Leliana, they decided that for this occasion, Airam should wear the robes he gave to him in Denerim. The leathers he wore was too plain. It wasn't very likely that people here followed new trends in mage fashions, so they wouldn't recognize that they're not just clothes. In case of any trouble, it would give Airam an advantage. Leliana also fixed his hair, despite his furious protests. The others were enjoying the show, of course. Alistair was the worst – it was really a miracle that he wasn't a glittering ice statue yet.

But it was worth it, he decided when he looked at their fearless, angry leader now. Satisfied, he gave Leliana the nod. She grinned widely, and went to call the dwarf in.

"Remember – be polite, but don't promise anything," he reminded Airam for one last time. The boy shot him the scariest, dirtiest look, but didn't have time to say anything, as the door opened and Leliana led in the dwarf.

It turned out he didn't have to worry about _promising_ Vartag anything;keeping him alive would be quite enough. The dwarf really had a knack of making their fearless leader even angrier. He made very clear that dwarves had no need for the Grey Wardens. They had always lived with the darkspawn threat, so the Warden must understand that it would not be easy to find allies in Orzammar. But the Prince Bhelen was still willing to the Warden a huge favour and provide troops – and all the Prince asked in return was that the Warden delivered some documents to two nobles.

"And what are these documents, if I may ask?" Airam asked, still trying to be polite.

"That does not concern you, Warden," snapped Vartag haughtily. "All you have to do is to deliver them. It is easy enough task, I believe?"

"It is indeed," snapped Airam, in equally haughty tone. The temperature in the room suddenly dropped. "I'm just wondering, why is it so important to have the documents delivered by the Wardens?"

"It is not, but the Prince was willing to give you this opportunity to prove his loyalty towards him. He can't support you unless he's sure you're loyal to House Aeducan. Surely even an outsider like you understands this."

"Of course. But the problem with that is, you see, that the Wardens are not 'loyal' to any king. They have to be strictly neutral. Therefore, I cannot promise your Prince anything. Our concern is to defeat darkspawn; which House rules in one isolated dwarven city is not our concern. Surely even a dwarf must understand that?"

_Oh well_._ I did tell him not to promise anything, didn't I?_ He didn't dare look at Leliana – if he did, he would probably start laughing aloud.

Vartag opened his mouth to protest, but Airam cut in. "Besides, there are two candidates for the throne, right? We will have to visit Lord Harrowmont, then. For objectivity sake, of course."

"I see." The dwarf looked at Airam with slightly more respect, and grinned. "Do as you must, Warden. I hope you will make the right choice. I would not like to see you suffer the consequences of a bad decision."

_He really dares to threaten our leader, right in front of us? In front of __**me**__? Who in the Fade does this fool think he is?_ "That is good advice indeed," he said aloud, "so allow me to say the same thing to you and your Prince."

He half expected that Morrigan or Leliana would giggle, but they were too busy glaring at the dwarf and looking livid. Vartag finally realized what a huge mistake he had made, and quickly excused himself.

oOo

"This is going to be much more difficult than I thought," sighed Airam when the fool finally left. "One would think they would have an enormous army that can defeat the horde any day they wish. And I know they don't. I've been reading about their history for last few days, and in fact I'm not sure if there is any sense in asking for their help. They can't have more soldiers than Arl Eamon, and of course they won't be able to send _all_ of them with us."

"I've been thinking about that myself," admitted Alistair. "And besides, even if they had an army big enough to face the horde, it wouldn't help them. Only a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon. Duncan stressed that often enough."

Airam looked as surprised as the rest of them. "What do you mean? And more importantly, when did you intend to tell me?"

"You mean you didn't know? I thought Duncan told you!"

"You _thought_? When was he supposed to do it? You know very well he didn't want to tell us recruits any 'Warden secrets' before the Joining! And you might remember what happened right after the Joining! You know, the war council and the big battle?"

Airam folded his arms and gave his brother Warden one of his deadliest looks. "So what else do you _think_ Duncan told me?"

Nobody dared to interrupt – they were too eager to listen. This was the first time that either of their Wardens talked about the Joining or the Wardens. Maybe if they remained silent, they would continue to talk about it right here? But of course, even Alistair wasn't dumb enough to fall for it.

"I guess we should have a talk. In _private_. So could you arrange that we're not disturbed? You know, with your assassin."

Airam quirked his brow, though he was slightly embarrassed. "With _my_ assassin?"

"Well you're the one who kept him alive. And who spends the most time with him," muttered Alistair defensively, finally realizing what he said – to great amusement of everybody else.

"Ah, my dear Alistair. Do I sense jealousy there? If you wish to spend more time with me, it can be easily done, no? One word from you and I will gladly join you in your tent."

Leliana giggled. "But I'm sure _your_ Warden wouldn't like that so much, no?" She winked at Airam, whose ears turned a lovely shade of pink.

"I have no idea what you're blabbering about," he snapped. "Now. If you'll excuse us. I expect Alistair has a lot of explaining to do. Gran, could you please use some of your glyphs on our room? And I think I will ask you to teach me some."

"Of course my dear."

Wynne immediately went to do as she was told, with poorly hidden satisfaction. Irritating old bat. He retreated to his room, too annoyed to listen to any more bad jokes from Morrigan or Leliana without assassinating them. Why did Leliana have to say anything? Now his War – _their_ Warden! It wasn't as if he had any claim on the boy or anything! Now Airam would probably be too embarrassed to ask for anything. And that was very frustrating thought.

oOo

Airam didn't come for the training. Or to the dinner. Whatever it was that Alistair revealed to him, it had to be quite serious. After few hesitating moments, as the boy obviously wanted to be alone, Zevran decided to go to him after all. He loaded a tray with as much food as he could carry – this was a hungry Grey Warden, after all – he went to Airam's room. Only to find it empty. It took him a while till he found him, sitting on the roof of the inn.

"I hate this place," he said without even turning to see who was coming. "They don't have streams or ponds or at least a fountain here! Did you notice that?"

He sat down, placing the tray between them. "Yes, I already wondered where they get they water from. But they must have some sources. It is needed to brew ale."

"Always so pragmatic," complained Airam, before he turned his attention to the tray. "Is this for me? Did I miss the dinner? _Why_ did nobody come to call me?"

"It might be because everybody thought you're too depressed by whatever Grey Warden secrets you found out and didn't want to eat. Oh, I know. Quite crazy, yes?"

"I'm _never_ too depressed for dinner." The boy smiled, but it was a little bit forced. And he didn't comment the Grey Warden secrets at all. Zevran decided not to push it.

"I so wish it would all be solved tomorrow," said Airam after a moment of silence, still chewing on the bread. "That all the dwarves would see reason, choose a king, who would then collect an army and give it to us. And we could go back to the normal world with normal sky and normal rivers. Wouldn't it be terrific?"

"Hope always dies last. And miracles sometimes happen. I am a living proof of that, no? Though I must say, it would require a very big miracle for that to happen. But, if everything goes well tomorrow, perhaps we could be out of the town within few days."

Airam sighed. "I don't know, Zev. I have a very bad feeling about all this. Something bad is going to happen, I feel it."

"That is just hunger. Come now. Finish your dinner and then we can go sparring for a little while. It will clear your head, you will see. Yes?" He tried to sound cheerful, but he was worried – more about the strange pessimism than any dangers they could possibly face in Orzammar. He could easily protect Airam from those.

The boy gave him another unconvincing smile. What _did_ Alistair tell him, that it shook always carefree and optimistic Airam so much?

oOo

They made quite a procession, as they walked to the Assembly. It was in the upper part of Orzammar with the preposterous name 'Diamond Quarters'. He half expected that the streets would really be covered in diamonds, but alas, it was just a plain rock, same as in the part where they stayed. In fact, it wasn't so much different. Same tall buildings with the same tall windows and same ugly ornaments. The only difference was that the most of the houses here had a coat of arms above the main door. And people. Most people here were dressed in rich clothes, heavily decorated with gemstones and gold.

"How do they move in it? It must be very stiff and uncomfortable, with all the stones," commented Airam, who was in much better mood today.

Leliana giggled. "Oh Air, you do not understand fashion at all! I assure you, these are very comfortable..."

"And they don't move much anyway," Alistair cut in. "I mean, just _look_ at them."

It was true. All the people were just idly leaning on the doors of their mansions, or idly chatting with their neighbours or idly walking a few meters down the street and then back.

"Why are all these people wasting their time? There is much to do in this town. They should be working." Sten frowned at the nearest dwarf, who didn't care at all.

"They can't work. They're in the caste of nobles. It would be against dwarven traditions if they worked," replied Airam. Sten as usually took it literally.

"You mean they are incapacitated for work?" He asked frowning even more.

"Something like that, yes -"

"Bhelen is... a bad, bad man! Yes! _Very_ bad!" yelled the dwarf they were passing by as loudly as his dwarven lungs allowed him. Airam almost jumped aside.

"That was... very convincing indeed. But do you have to shout that loud? Aren't you afraid? I saw a man saying something similar few days ago and the next moment he lost his head. I'd prefer not to have to see that again, you know."

Leliana giggled again. "It's his job to shout. He's one of the Orzammar criers, he cries the news. Or what people pay him to shout."

"What an _interesting_ job. See, Sten, there are some people working here after all. Say, good man, perhaps you could help us? We're looking for the Assembly. Can you show us where it is?"

Luckily both the crier and Sten missed the sarcasm. The dwarf in fact looked proud, as if Airam really complimented him, and gladly led the way. _He won't learn until his cheekiness really causes some big trouble. _But as usually, he couldn't be really angry. The craziness was a part of Airam's charm, no?

The Assembly looked impressive... or would have, if there was any space to stand and admire it. Was this Antiva or Val Royeaux, or even the flea ridden Denerim, there would be a big, beautiful garden in front of it; here, there was just a narrow _plazza,_ rimmed with lava channels. If you wanted to see more than just huge doors, you had to step to the very edge of these channels and throw your head back. Only Airam, Leliana and himself were curious enough to do that. Alistair peeked up, too, but he was too worried about what would people say. The dwarves stared at them as if they were out of their minds.

"Kadan," huffed Sten impatiently, "we should go. There will be time for that when all is done."

Airam sighed. "All right, all right. Let's go, then."

But the guards in front of the door were of a different opinion. "We are very sorry, Warden, but we cannot let you in as long as you're carrying weapons. By the orders of the Lord Steward, the weapons are strictly forbidden."

"I understand. But what now? I'm not going back all the way to the inn just to store our weapons, and then come back here again. Someone will have to stay outside and guard our weapons."

Rask barked.

"Of course you're strong enough to guard them on your own," said Airam soothingly. "I just want someone to keep you company."

"I will stay," offered Morrigan. "I have no wish to deal with these nobles and their political machinations."

"I shall stay as well," said Shale.

The rest of them piled their weapons next to Rask. Naturally, he had no intention to obey. Not completely, at least. He handed over his two daggers that he carried on his belt for everyone to see. No need to mention his six hidden knives, no? These dwarves could not be trusted. Airam and Wynne were mages and would have no problem to fight if something happened, and he was sure Leliana had some hidden weapons as well. Alistair... well. The Chantry boy was still too naïve and honest for him to expect such a thing, but perhaps he was good in fist fighting. Though he would prefer not to find out. For his little Warden's sake, he hoped everything would go smoothly.

oOo

It wasn't difficult to find the Chamber of the Assembly, where the dwarven lords held their session – it was enough to follow the shouting and curses. The Lord Steward obviously knew what he was doing when he forbid the weapons.

The dwarves were so absorbed in their argument, that they didn't even notice when they entered. It was a huge circular room, with rows of seats lining the walls, much like the fighting arena. The main difference was that here it was the spectators who were arguing, shouting and cursing at their opponents, while the single dwarf that stood in the middle looked exasperated and quite desperate. Probably the Lord Steward.

He expected Airam to announce his presence loudly and immediately, but the boy remained silent, observing what was going on. The fight was fierce but it was not about the future king. No, there was only one thing that could enrage people like this. Zevran chuckled.

"_Taxes_," muttered Airam. "The world is about to end, if we don't stop the Blight and they're arguing about whether they should increase taxes or not."

Wynne smiled. "Erwin would say that you just discovered the general answer to everything."

"I thought that was forty-two," chuckled Airam, but when nobody seemed to understand, he just sighed. "Never mind. Let's go introduce ourselves."

The argument had just reached its peak; one more moment and the dwarves would jump at each other and start pulling their hair. The Lord Steward tried his best to calm them down."Gentlemen, please! I have already forbidden the weapons in the Hall, must I also call for the guards to keep peace?" But nobody listened to him. The dwarf looked around the room, as if he hoped to find some help – and he noticed them, standing at the door.

"Please, calm down gentlemen! We have guests! The Grey Wardens honour us with their visit!"

That worked like a spell. All the noise immediately stopped and everyone turned to them. To their little Warden. There was a moment of silence and then Airam determinedly stepped forward.

"And I am honoured to stand in the great Assembly of dwarven deshyrs," he said. "I apologize for my interruption, but the matter I come with cannot wait. The lives of many people depend on it. As you might already know, we are facing another Blight. Therefore, I have come to the brave people of Orzammar, the old allies of the Grey Wardens. I have come, because it is time to join our forces again and defeat the evil that threatens all of us. It is time to honour the promise your ancestors made when the first Archdemon was defeated."

_Impressive_. He couldn't help but smile. The crazy kid probably spent hours practicing this speech to perfection. And were they in any other country, it would perhaps work.

"It's about time that the darkspawn attacked you surfacers, for a change! They've bothered us long enough!" cried one of the nobles.

Airam stiffened. "They _bothered_ you?" He walked to the middle of the room. "Allow me to explain, for I believe we are not talking about the same thing. When I say that another Blight has started, I do not mean a group of darkspawn bothering occasional travellers. I mean the _horde_. Tens of thousands of darkspawn. Led by the Archdemon."

The transformation of the crazy, shy kid into the determined Commander of Grey, radiating such authority that all the dwarves shut up and listened – that was something that would never cease to fascinate him.

"You say the darkspawn were bothering you. How many of you, if I may ask, has ever seen the horde? Please stand up if you did. No one? We saw it. And it was a horrible sight. Six thousand men were at Ostagar, six thousands skilled soldiers, and they didn't stand a chance."

"Bah! Surfacers can't fight!" yelled someone, and the others immediately agreed.

"Is that so? I'm a surfacer, too. And yet I've been able to defeat your fighters in the Proving arena," Airam pointed out.

"They were not real fighters! Only rookies! It means nothing!"

Airam folded his arms. "Perhaps. But that doesn't matter. The real questions are, if Fereldan falls, where do you think the darkspawn will turn? Do you think they will use boats to sail to Orlais and other countries? I would not bet on it. No, they will get there through Deep Roads. Through Orzammar. So tell me, does Orzammar have the army that can face the horde? Do you have an army that could defeat tens of thousands of darkspawn and the Archdemon, once they decide to really bother you? Do you think you can stand by yourselves?"

There was a ringing silence after Airam finished.

"We've withstood four Blights so far," said someone, but it didn't sound very convincing. "We will withstand the fifth as well."

"That might be so," replied Airam calmly. "But back then, you had an empire. Now, you are alone. Believe me. Against the horde, you won't stand for one day."

"Yes! We are alone, we always were! Where were the surfacers when the darkspawn took over our thaigs? Why didn't any Wardens come to help when we needed it?" There was a loud murmur of approval. This didn't look good.

Airam sensed it as well. "I'm not here to argue about the past. I don't care what happened, who helped or who didn't help. I only care about now, and about the future – or the lack of it, if the Blight is not stopped. Because that is the simple truth – if Ferelden falls, Orzammar will be next. And this time, it will not survive."

It still didn't convince them. Proud, stubborn fools.

"And there is one last thing you should consider. If the surface falls, so will you. But if the dwarves refuse to do their duty, as they obliged themselves in the Treaty sealed by Aeducan the Peacemaker, the king and the Paragon, and the surface nations should win, the dwarves will be branded as traitors and oath breakers. The only ones who were too cowardly to face the Blight. You will bring shame to the name of your ancestors forever. And that is not all. Now you seal your gates against surfacers. But if you break the Treaty and we win, Ferelden will seal the gate from the outside."

"You don't have the authority to do that! You're a Grey Warden, not a king of Ferelden," said another dwarf in a mocking tone. Zevran watched him with interest. The dwarf looked and sounded even more arrogant than the others; h looked like a man that was used to always get what he wanted.

"I assure you, that the Commander can get the approval of the King quite easily," said Alistair stepping forward. Leliana gave him a slight approving nod.

Airam chuckled. "And think carefully before you say that you don't need us surfacers anyway. I don't believe that _barley_ grows underground... I hope you all love your lichen ale."

Leliana moaned quietly in despair, while Alistair fought not to laugh out lout.

"This is _your_ fault, Zevran," hissed Leliana in his ear. His fault? There was, however, no time to discuss it. The Lord Stewart finally managed to calm the dwarves again.

"We have no intention to break the treaty and dishonour our ancestors, Grey Warden," he said, when all the shouts and protests stopped. "But just as you need the approval of the King, so do we. Unfortunately, as I am sure you know already, Orzammar has no King right now."

"I know and I fully understand how serious this matter is, Lord Stewart," said Airam with a little bow. "But I would like to ask, when do you think this situation will change? Surely it is in the best interest of Orzammar and its people to choose the king as soon as possible?"

"It shouldn't be a problem at all!" shouted the arrogant dwarf. "I am the rightful heir of the throne, the last of the Aeducan house!"

_Ah. So this is the Prince Bhelen. He certainly looks like your average king – arrogant, pompous and foolish. _But not all dwarves would agree with that, it seemed, and the argument started again, with more force than before. Some of the dwarves jumped out of their seats and ran to their opponents to continue discussions with fists; two of the ladies – if such word could be used for them exchanged several hard slaps. After ten minutes of useless shouting "Gentlemen, please!" the Lord Steward ran for the guards. It took another ten minutes till everyone calmed enough again. The floor was splattered by drops of blood and several teeth.

And his crazy kid was standing in the middle of chaos, obviously enjoying the show.

"As you can see, Warden it is not so simple," said the Lord Steward, breathless and hoarse. "I am afraid it will... take some time."

"But time is exactly what you don't have," said Airam patiently. "I'll say it one last time – soon, it will not matter who is the King, because the dwarven kingdom will be attacked as it was before, back in the time of the First Blight. Back then, four of your kingdoms united to fight the darkspawn back and barely managed to survive. Now, you're alone. If you don't act quickly, whoever you choose will be the _last_ king of dwarves."

"What you say is true, but we cannot solve it by ourselves..." Lord Stewart shrugged, resigned.

"There is a solution. If any of the two candidates had a support of a Paragon, all the quarrels would have to stop. All of us would accept the word of the Paragon as a sign of our ancestors," said one of the toothless dwarves.

Airam beamed with a renewed hope. "Let's ask this Paragon, then."

"But the only Paragon we have is Branka, and she's gone," said the dwarf with a swollen eye.

"And... there can't be two Paragons at the same time?" asked Airam, still unwilling to let this new hope disappear again.

The Lord Stewart shook his head. "It is possible, but the process of choosing, approving and naming the Paragon takes years, even if there are worthy candidates. No, the only way to solve this quickly and without further... complications is to find Paragon Branka."

Once again, there was a ringing silence in the room. Airam eyed the dwarves suspiciously. "So let's find her, then. I'm willing to help, if it will speed up the things."

"Your help would be appreciated, Warden," said the Prince with a sly smile. "After all, the brave Grey Wardens that faced the horde have nothing to fear in the Deep Roads. Or am I wrong?"

All the dwarves were only too happy to agree.

oOo

It was well past noon when they finally left the Assembly and their fearless, cheeky leader was in a very bad mood. He picked his daggers without one word. They quickly returned to their inn, where Leliana informed the others in great detail about everything that happened and about their new mission. Sten was not exactly thrilled – it was another delay from the ultimate goal of slaying the Archdemon – but Shale, and even Morrigan, seemed rather interested.

"Don't tell me you're worried. I assume that normally it would be dangerous, but 'tis hardly worse than what is on the surface now," said Morrigan, when she saw the sour look at Airam's face.

"I'm not worried, just exhausted. I really hoped it worked, for a while. All those hours of memorizing their stupid history and stupid names were useless," grumbled Airam, determinedly avoiding her gaze.

Zevran chuckled. "Ah, but you were marvelous. A true Commander of the Grey!" He patted him on the shoulder and Airam gave him the weakest of smiles. "But I agree. It _was_ rather tiresome, no? I certainly wouldn't refuse a pint of good beer. Why don't we go have some fun tonight, for a change?"

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea, Zevran! I heard that the Tapster Inn is the best. Come on, let's go and relax a bit, before we start preparing for another adventure," suggested Leliana.

That finally improved Airam's mood a little. "Yes, let's go to have some beer, while it is still available in Orzammar," joined Airam with evil grin. "Because whatever happens, Al, I want you to increase the export taxes of barley, malt and whatever else is needed to brew beer _tenfold_, once you're a king! And consider this an order from your Commander."

"For the Maker's sake, Air, keep your voice down! Do you want us to be slaughtered like nugs in our sleep?" Alistair looked around in mock fear.

When they went to the inn that evening, the mood was much better – partially also because Wynne decided to spend their way in a more useful way.

"A round of the best beer for everyone!" shouted Airam when they sat down. The dwarves greeted it with loud cheers to the Grey Wardens.

"Poor fools. Drink while you can," added Airam quietly with revengeful light in his eyes.

Leliana coughed. "Zevran. Aren't you supposed to train our _Commander_? I am afraid his skills in diplomacy still require a lot of work."

He laughed heartily. "Ah, is that what you meant when you said it was my fault? In that case, my dear Leliana, allow me to remind you that I train our Commander to be an assassin, not a politician."

"You're training him to be an _assassin_? You're joking... aren't you?"

"Not at all, my dear Chantry boy. However, let me tell you that it was the Commander's own wish."

" 'Tis foolish and useless. He could never be an assassin. He's too soft and careless for that," joined Morrigan.

"Would you all stop talking about me as if I wasn't here!" Airam frowned. "What in the world are you talking about anyway, Leliana? What is Zevran's fault?"

"I... eh... I told that to Zevran, because..."

"She means you should be more diplomatic and careful about what you say when you're facing the most powerful people in the country," he explained with a grin. "Your cheeky comments could put you, and all with you, in real danger." _Like the Deep Roads. But better not to says that aloud, yes?_

"I know. I'm not a politician, never will be." Airam shrugged. "Besides, isn't that what I have you for, Zev?"

"But I will not be with you always," he pointed out.

For a brief moment, there was a look of surprise at Airam's face, and also something else – hurt? Disappointment? But then he laughed softly. "I forget sometimes, that the Blight will not last forever, and that you'll leave..." his voice trailed off. He frowned at his tankard and emptied it in one breath. The maid immediately brought a new one.

"Well, I certainly hope it won't last forever! I prefer to hope will end it real soon, before it destroys the whole of Ferelden," said Alistair, completely oblivious that anything had happened, as usual. "What are you going to do once it's over?"

"I want to serve the Maker and Andraste, and help to rebuild the Temple again," said Leliana enthusiastically. "It was lost for so long! It is a place where the pilgrims could get many blessings and grace, it should be open for everyone."

"And I hoped you'd stay to help me, when I become King," said Alistair, disappointed.

"Of course I will stay, should you wish." Leliana seemed pleasantly surprised. It was the first really nice thing that Alistair told her, since her past was revealed. "But I do not think you will need my help for very long. You learn quickly."

Morrigan snorted. "Well then, I guess I will prefer to leave Ferelden. I do not think it would be safe with this Chantry fool as the King."

"And you, Sten? Will you go back to Seheron?" asked Leliana, to avoid another argument between Morrigan and Alistair.

"I wish I could, but I cannot."

Airam blinked. "Why, Stenny?

They all stared at him in shock. "What did you call him?" asked Morrigan, when her ability to speak returned again. Airam ignored her.

"Wha's wrong, my big boring friend? Tell your Warden Com...mound...mend... well, you know wha' I mean."

Leliana and Morrigan started to giggle.

"S'op laughing. You're... bad, bad girls! Yes! Very bad!" Airam tried to shake his finger at them, but it seemed he was not too sure in which direction he should point.

"You're _drunk_?" Alistair couldn't believe it. "But we've only been here ten minutes! We're drinking our first – oh. Right."

In front of Airam, there was not one empty tankard, but four. Zevran frowned. _When_ did he manage to drink the third and fourth? He didn't watch him only for a moment. _Brasca_.

" 'mnodunk," protested Airam.

"Yes, you are. Be proud, I'm sure nobody has ever gotten drunk this fast," giggled Leliana. "You better take him back to our inn, Zev."

"Nonono – I wanna s'ay here – hey! You! Bring us more ale!"

"You shame Wardens like this, Kadan. Go. You're drunk."

"And you're ugly. Even more than I am." Airam stuck out his tongue at the Qunari, who just shook his head.

"But Zev will be sad if you don't go," said Leliana, not even trying to hide her amusement. "He has been looking forward to spending the night with you for a very long time. Weren't you, Zev?"

"Of course I did," he replied in the same merry tone, though inwardly he swore he would make Leliana pay for these jokes. And Morrigan for her giggling. At least Alistair still didn't seem to understand what was Leliana talking about. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

Airam looked at him with unfocused eyes. "I dun wanna massage," he proclaimed, which made Leliana first blink and then burst into mad laughter.

"Oh Zevran, you beast. Don't tell me you tried _that_!"

That made the crazy kid really angry. "Zev is no' a beas' ! You're a beas' ! He's my bes' buddy ever!"

Ignoring the renewed fits of laughter, he quickly put Airam's hand around his shoulder and helped him to get up. Followed by Morrigan's comments and Leliana's giggling, he quickly dragged the boy out of the inn, and then back to their own inn. It was not a pleasant walk, but he couldn't make himself be angry with the crazy kid. Needless to say, Wynne was disgusted and angry when she saw what sort of state Airam was in. She let him know that it was all his fault. He didn't have the strength to argue with her.

It was a great relief when they finally reached their room, and he could shut the door in her face. But there was a new problem. One of the worst he ever faced, it seemed: how to deal with drunk Airam without making them both feel embarrassed the next day. It took all his wit, and a lot of patience, but he finally convinced Airam to change his clothes and go to bed.

"Bu' you s'ay with me!" demanded Airam, when he finally tucked the blanked around him.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right next to you, yes?"

"Promise?"

"Of course."

When the crazy kid finally fell asleep, Zevran was exhausted more than after battling an ogre, but he couldn't sleep. He lay on his bed, staring into the darkness. It would be nice, he thought, if it was real. The promise. Not just drunk talk. He did _not_ wish to go anywhere.

But he had no illusions. He knew that after the Blight, when things return back to the normal, everything will be different. He would have to leave, whether he wanted it or not. Airam could say now, and perhaps even believe it, that they were 'best buddies forever'... But Airam would be the Warden Commander, a hero of people who defended them against the darkspawn, an important and respected person. He wouldn't want someone like Zevran to drag him down. A runaway slave for the Crows, a dangerous assassin for everyone else, that was all he was, all that he would ever be.

Only to think about leaving Airam hurt. And as much as he hated the smelly monsters, he still dreaded the day when the Blight would end and his little Warden would not need him any more.

Perhaps he could offer to train the recruits for Airam. He chuckled. Airam stirred and sighed, but he didn't wake up.

Hm. Training recruits actually wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe he should really ask... But not tomorrow. Tomorrow will be funny enough anyway. Would Airam remember what happened? Leliana might be merciful and discreet... but he doubted Morrigan would be. Or Wynne. Tomorrow, the poor crazy kid would need his moral support, no?

And for now, it was enough.


	18. Making the Dust Fly

Finally, a new chapter. I'm sorry for delay - I blame Harrowmont and... two other dwarves for it. :)

Thanks to my lovely beta Seika for all her support and comments, and prodding. ^^

* * *

**Making the Dust Fly**

When he got up the next morning, he found the others still dead asleep. Wynne coldly informed him that they had returned only few hours before. She didn't say so, but it was clear as the day–well, at least a day on the surface–that she thought _that_ was his fault as well. Bad influence on innocent Grey Wardens, yes? Never mind that _he_ only had one beer, and even that had been left unfinished when he took their fearless leader home.

Not in the mood to deal with silent accusations of the old hag, he went out for a walk; a bit of fresh air would do him good. Too bad there wasn't any. _Airam was right_, he decided. _This place is disgusting._ It wouldn't have surprised him to find a giant spider leaping at him from around the corner.

"Messere Arainai! A happy coincidence to find you here! I was, in fact, on my way to visit you and the Wardens at the inn!"

He turned to the voice, and immediately wished it _was_ a spider. Eric Grimson, the Proving Master, was walking to him as quickly as his fat little legs allowed. They usually dealt with the Armsman; they only met this old fool once, when Airam "qualified" for the Tournament, and Zevran would have sworn that the strong feeling of disgust was mutual on both sides. So what could he possibly want?

"A happy coincidence indeed," he said with a polite bow. "But I do not recommend the visit today. Please come tomorrow, if you don't mind."

"Forgive me my boldness, but I must insist. I need to talk to the kid urgently."

"You mean _the Warden-Commander_," he corrected the fool, not bothering to hide his annoyance. These dwarves and their arrogance were getting on his nerves. "What do you want with him?"

The Proving Master widened his eyes in mock surprise. "Why, I just wanted to remind him that the Tournament starts in a week, and he is expected to participate."

"I am afraid that will not be possible. We are leaving for the Deep Roads in a few days, by the order of the Assembly," he explained with strained smile.

"And that is precisely why I want to talk to him," the Proving Master replied with an eager nod. "By entering the preliminary rounds, he expressed his agreement to join the Tournament. If he does not participate, it will be considered a violation of the contract, and that would have severe consequences, ruining of the Wardens reputation being the least –"

"Oh, I see." Zevran smiled at the dwarf as cordially as he could. "You are right. The honour of the Wardens dictates that they participate, yes. You should go and explain it like this to the Warden-Commander . I am sure he will agree."

He watched the arrogant fool hurrying towards the inn and felt a little pang of guilt. Oh well. At least it would cause a diversion from the embarrassing memories about the previous night, no? In any case, he had better avoid the inn for a few more minutes.

But he didn't get far, when he heard his name again. _What_ now? He watched the dwarf approach him. He was pretty sure that he had not met him before. Yet the dwarf was smiling as if they had been the best of buddies for years, which could mean only one thing; the dwarf wanted to try talking him into something. That meant he was one of the _deshyrs_, or at least working for one.

"Messere Arainai. I am Dulin Forender, Second to Lord Harrowmont. I couldn't help but overhear your discussion with the Proving Master, Ser Grimson–"

"Naturally," he said aloud. That was a rather pathetic lie. This guy had not been near enough to hear their talk. Which meant that the whole meeting with the Proving Master had been a set up. "But as I said to Ser Grimson, we are leaving for the Deep Roads–surely Lord Harrowmont is aware of this, yes?–and we still have many things to prepare. Have a nice day."

Harrowmont's lackey was not one to give up easily, it seemed. "Please, listen to me. I have a proposal that could make the whole expedition to the Deep Roads unnecessary. I hope to present it to the Warden Commander today, should he be so kind as to grant me an audience. However, as the right hand man to Lord Harrowmont and you the right hand man to the Warden Commander, I was hoping to discuss it with you first. Please, it will only take a few minutes. May I invite you for a glass of beer, so we can discuss it in a more private setting?"

A few minutes? With all that blabbering? Not likely. But it could be useful to know what Lord Harrowmont wanted, before he met with their impatient, cheeky leader.

"Very well," he said with a strained smile. The dwarf immediately started another tirade about how happy he was, and that Wardens most definitely would not regret it. By the time they reached an inn, his head was aching worse than if he had spent the night with twenty Morrigans and Alistairs. They were taken into a separate room, and brought the best beer. At least, that was what the maid said. The truth was it tasted more foul than any other he had had since they first arrived in this underground hole of a city. He would give a full Assembly of deshyrs for a single glass of Antivan Chianti.

Dulin went on and on, explaining everything into the smallest details. Half an hour later, Zevran was too annoyed to care about diplomacy any more.

"Forgive me for interrupting," he said, "but my time is running out. If I understood correctly, what you suggest is that the Wardens fight for Lord Harrowmont in the Provings because his own fighters deserted for unknown reasons."

"I wouldn't say 'deserted'. That is too – "

"Of course, of course. My mistake." Zevran flashed a wide smile at the fidgeting dwarf. "Fighting for Lord Harrowmont would be a public declaration of the Wardens' loyalty to his Lordship, a bond of honour that can't be broken."

"Precisely. It would also oblige my Lord to grant the Wardens an audience, and to discuss the further steps the Warden needs to take in order to secure the support of the _deshyrs_ in the elections and, consequently, the Lord –at that moment, _king_ Harrowmont, in fact–to the Wardens ."

"And the next step you suggest is to destroy the Carta, an organized band of criminals, and find proof that they were involved in the death of the Prince Thrain, yes?"

"_Trian_," Dulin corrected him.

"If you say so." Zevran flashed his most brilliant smile at Dulin; he could well imagine Airam's reaction to this pompous, arrogant "offer". But Dulin seemed to think the smile was confirmation of an agreement. Ah, poor sod. Zevran almost felt sorry for him–he was in for a nasty surprise.

"I will forward your kind offer to the Warden Commander," he promised, getting up. "Please come in the afternoon... at six precisely? Can we agree on that?" Dulin didn't have any objections and, after another ten minutes of endless phrases, Zevran was finally able to get out. _So much for my walk_, he thought gloomily. He had better return to the inn. There was much to do: plan the trip to the Deep Roads, prepare their fearless leader for a visit by another arrogant dwarf... and get rid of what was left from the Proving Master.

But he had hardly taken ten steps when he heard someone calling him again. A cute girl with black pig tails and a radiant smile was waving at him eagerly. He was determined to pretend he hadn't heard her and started to walk faster; but the girl was equally determined to speak to him.

"Please wait, kind Ser! I only want to ask if you know any mage," she said, panting heavily when she caught up with him.

Now that got his attention. Had someone found out that Airam was a mage? Before Airam's fight in Provings, they had all agreed to keep it secret. At first they were not sure if he would be allowed to participate, if it was known, and later they just stuck to the story. Zevran preferred to have it this way; it was always good to have a hidden advantage.

"Perhaps. Why would you like to know?"

"I heard there are many mages on the surface," the girl said, eyes shining with excitement, "and that they shape the world as they wish. Oh, it must be beautiful! Like a dream. Dreams are beautiful, aren't they? Us dwarves can't dream. That's why we can't become mages. It's all the lyrium in the stones, see? We've been exposed to it for so long that we lost any connection to the Fade. It's not fair, don't you think? We can't be mages; all we can do is to read about magic. I've read all there is in the Shaperate, but it's far from enough! Magic is so interesting, isn't it? I could read and talk about it for hours!"

Yes, he could see that. "Ah, I agree with that, but –"

She ignored him as if he hadn't said anything and continued with her rapid monologue. "But as I said I can't learn anything new here any more. So I decided I _must_ to go to the surface, find a real, living mage–"

_At least she's not interested in abominations_. He couldn't help grinning. There was something endearing in her eagerness to learn; maybe it was because she reminded him of a certain young mage.

" –and ask him to teach me all there is to know about magic. Oh, I know it won't help me and that I'll never be a mage no matter what, but I'd like to learn about it anyway. For academic purposes, you know? And you are a surfacer and a Warden, so I thought you might know a mage or two and perhaps you'd be willing to help me. All I'm asking is to take me to the Mage Circle or at least show me the way, I'm sure I'll find someone to teach me once I'm there–"

She would probably continue forever, if Zevran hadn't started to laugh. She was completely crazy, he decided, but she also improved his mood quite a lot. And he had a feeling he had just the right mage for her.

"Allow me to introduce myself first," he said. "I am not a Warden, merely one of their companions. Zevran Arainai, at your service. And may I be so bold to ask for your name, my dear lady?"

"Oh, that's right, I didn't introduce myself, did I? Please forgive me, I always get carried away when I talk about magic and you're such a good listener. My father would have stopped me long ago. I am Dagna, the daughter of Janar Meldun, of the Smith caste. So you really know a mage?"

"I do, and I am sure he will be willing to help you," he said, grinning widely. "If I may ask, you said you have read everything in the Shaperate... am I right to think it is a library?"

"Yes, I think it's called a library on the surface. It's amazing, it has all the records about our history, and philosophy, and other such things, you know. You should visit, you'll love it. I mean, who wouldn't love such wonderful place?"

_Who indeed? _Zevran imagined Airam's face when he'd find out about the library, and grinned.

"And it could be useful for the Wardens as well, because there are many books about the darkspawn and about the history of dwarven fights against the darkspawn, including the Blights, though I haven't read those, because there was nothing about magic in them, so I can't say if they'll help or not, and there are maps of the Deep Roads –"

"Maps of the Deep Roads?" Oh this was good. Now Airam would have an official reason to visit the library. And to have some fun at the same time. Maker knew the crazy kid needed it.

oOo

He returned to the inn, taking the girl with him. The situation there was more dire than he expected. Luckily, Wynne's manners were too good to be impolite in front of a visitor. He left the ladies to chat and proceeded to his and Airam's room, from where he could already hear Alistair's angry shouting. Someone should explain to the Chantry boy that such loud shouting was bad for him. It would ruin his voice; one day he would wake up and he'd be mute. Not that _he_ would mind, but it could be devastating for Alistair's career as a King of Ferelden. A king without a voice; that was pathetic even for Fereldan standards.

The reason for Alistair's yelling was standing in front of the door to the room, glistening and dripping cold drops of water on the floor. Alistair seemed to think that to freeze a Proving Master, one of the most important dwarves in Orzammar, was irresponsible and childish, if not outright stupid. Airam apparently remained unconvinced. Watching those two argue was always such fun. Alas, he could never fully enjoy the show; the circumstances always forced him to intervene. This time was no different.

"My dear Wardens, I am pleased to find you in such a... _lively_ mood," he said merrily.

Alistair snarled at him. "It's all your fault, _assassin_."

"Your accusations wound me, Alistair. I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied with a smug grin. "I haven't even been here, no?"

"He means that guy," Airam pointed his head in the direction of the ice statue. "The guy stormed in here, started blabbering nonsense about the Tournament, and then had the nerve to say it was you who told him to do it. As if I'd ever believe that. You wouldn't do something that mean... would you?"

The tone of Airam's voice said quite clearly he expected only one answer. "Of course not. I distinctly remember telling him to come tomorrow, in fact."

"Good. I'd have to freeze you if you did. I don't like mean people, especially when they're mean to _me_."

Alistair seemed to have a problem with that remark and started complaining again, but the crazy kid didn't listen any more.

"It's good you showed up, Zev, I wanted to talk to you. Let's go somewhere more quiet..." Airam shot an angry look at the fuming Chantry boy.

"As you desire. But what about the Proving Master? Should you not cancel the spell first?"

Airam looked at the dwarf and the small pool that was slowly forming around his feet. "Tch. He's disgusting even as an ice statue," he complained. "Never mind that fool, he'll unfreeze, eventually. There are much more important things I need to discuss with you now. We'll take your room, Al, all right? And in the meantime, you can remove our visitor somewhere he can melt down in peace."

Alistair didn't like it and tried to protest, but the crazy didn't pay any attention to him any more and walked out of the room. Zevran followed, grinning from ear to ear, curious what Airam wanted.

"Zevran," he said in grim voice, when the door to Alistair's room slammed behind them. "My brain is one big cone of cotton candy... I can't remember things clearly.'

He nodded, trying to look serious. "I see. That could be expected, yes. It's called hangover and–"

"_Zevran_."

"Oh, but you already know that, yes? Please continue."

Airam sighed. "I _think _it was just another nightmare, but I need to know for sure. Did I–or did I not–call Sten '_Stenny_' yesterday?"

oOo

The next two hours were great fun. For Zevran, at least. He had a strong feeling their fearless leader would disagree. In fact, he had just discovered that Airam was not so fearless, after all–apologizing to the Qunari and facing an offended Wynne certainly seemed to scare him a lot. Not that Zevran could blame him. _He_ wouldn't want to face Wynne right now, either.

While he was briefing Airam in about the previous night, Wynne somehow dispelled Airam's spell on the Proving Master. The dwarf was in foul mood–to put it mildly–and it took her a lot of time and effort to sweet talk him into not making a fuss about "the attack" to the authorities, as well as to keep quiet about the fact that Airam was a mage.

Good thing he brought Dagna with him. She was a perfect distraction; under the permanent flow of the girl's merry babbling, it was impossible to remain grim and angry for long. Just as he expected, Airam highly approved of her interest in study. And in the reading of books. Kindred spirits, those two, even more than with the Poet Tree. Zevran couldn't stop imagining them together; an elf, a dwarf and a tree, discussing the finer points of poetry in Thedas. What a sight would that be! It almost made him regret not paying attention to poetry during his studies; all he remembered now were two or three naughty poems... Hm. He should tell them to Airam, for the fun of it.

Perhaps it would make him stop worrying about the visit from Harrowmont's lackey. They discussed it with Alistair, Leliana and Wynne, and decided it was better to go with the original plan to find Branka in the Deep Roads. It didn't seem wise to compromise the good name of the Wardens by breaking the promise made in front of the Assembly for something this uncertain. There was no reason to believe that Lord Harrowmont would do as he promised. Especially, as Zevran pointed out, as he apparently wasn't much of a leader; his own people were deserting him at the first sign of trouble.

But Airam was worried that he'd say the wrong thing again. Freezing a fool who bangs into your room while you're still not fully awake after a difficult night is one thing, negotiation with the Second of the throne candidate was another–as the crazy kid explained to Wynne when she asked, still in that icy voice, why he didn't use his favourite solution.

Anyone could see Wynne was itching with desire to give Airam another lecture, but he didn't give her a chance. He pointed out that they should start preparations for the expedition. Wynne and Morrigan should prepare as many poultices, potions and glyphs as possible, Leliana and Alistair should take care of supplies and repairs of their armour; perhaps Dagna could take them to her father's smithy... and he and Zev could go to the Shaperate, to see if they had maps of the Deep Roads. They would all get back at five and get ready for Dulin, and think of a way how to reject the "kind offer" of his Lord.

Clever, his crazy kid, no? No logical objection could be raised against the plan; everyone had to agree. Not that _he_ would object; he got to spend almost the entire day with Airam, after all. Yes, this day was going to be great fun.

oOo

The Shaperate was big and impressive. Not as much as the Library di Antiva, naturally, but not bad. A bit too much stone, perhaps. And as the most records were in the old dwarven language, it was soon also quite boring. Unless you were a dwarven scholar… or a crazy kid obsessed with books. Airam loved it. He harassed the scholars with dozens of questions about history, language, culture and politics. At first they were suspicious and not willing to answer, but after a while they relaxed a bit and became friendlier–approximately the same time Zevran became bored to death, in fact.

Besides, the scholars might have decided that they could trust Airam, but Zevran didn't trust them yet. How could he trust someone who called themselves the "Shaper of Memories"? It sounded very fishy. Once something happened, it could not be shaped any more, no? They could be changed, but then they wouldn't be true any more–they would be just a pile of lies, without any value. No; as far as he was concerned, these Shapers could not be trusted.

He browsed through long rows of books, trying not to look too bored. He was just starting to wonder if he should go and remind the crazy kid why they came, when he heard Airam's angry voice.

"A burglar stole it? That's outrageous!"

Zevran sighed. He was sure where this would go. It was always like this. Every time Airam became friendly with someone, they asked for a favour. And in most cases, Airam agreed to help. Why should this time be any different? Annoyed, he walked over to Airam. As expected, the Shaper was asking Airam to retrieve a valuable tome. It was stolen two days ago, probably by some casteless scum from Dust Town –

"Casteless?" asked Airam, frowning. "Wait. Didn't you say _all_ people are sorted into castes?"

"Casteless are not people. They look like people, but they are not real people, if you know what I mean," the Shaper explained.

"I don't," Airam snapped. "How can someone look like a man but not be one?"

"Casteless are cursed by the Ancestors. They are not part of our society. We merely tolerate their existence," the Shaper said, not realising he was losing points with Airam by every word.

"Cursed by the Ancestors? Like the mages are, on the surface?"

The Shaper nodded. "Similar, yes. With the difference that mages can at least be useful for society, on rare occasions, while casteless are just worthless criminals and scum."

"On _rare_ occasions. Aren't I lucky," Airam muttered angrily. The Shaper gave him suspicious look, but Airam didn't elaborate. "Go on, then. Anything you know about the thief?"

It turned out they knew quite a lot; the "burglar" came in broad daylight, ignored Shapers, grabbed the tome and ran out. By the time the guards arrived he was long gone back to the slums, and the guards were not willing to search for him there. It was too dangerous–guards only went there every few months to catch new brats that needed branding. But the Warden was a _resourceful_ guy; surely it would be no problem for him. The more he heard, the angrier he became, and he could see Airam was silently fuming, as well. So he was surprised when Airam agreed to help.

"I can't promise I'll be successful. My time is limited, I'm afraid–we'll be leaving for the Deep Roads in a few days."

"Of course Warden. We appreciate the effort," the Shaper said with a bow. "We will prepare the maps for you, as we agreed; they will be ready tomorrow afternoon."

A few courteous phrases later, and they were finally out of the Shaperate. Zevran's mood immediately improved. "Do you want to return to the inn now? We still have few hours until Harrowmont's Second comes. Perhaps we could go for a walk around the town, no?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"I want to go to the Dust Town."

"Because of the book? Leave it to me and Leliana. Give us one or two days and we will find it, I can promise that."

"It's not just about the book. I want to see it. I want to meet the casteless."

_Brasca_. This was the "let's go see the Crows" all over again. "I understand, but it is dangerous. What do you think will happen when we march in there, dressed like this? We'll get mugged before you count to three."

"I'm not afraid. I can take care of myself." Airam folded his arms.

"And I am the last one who would doubt that," he said quickly. "But there are only two of us. If you want to go to Dust Town, we shall, but let us go back first, prepare ourselves and take at least Sten and Shale with us. Yes?"

"It would take too long. And I'm sure you'd try to find some excuse why I can't go."

That was the idea, yes. Zevran sighed. This crazy kid was too clever for his own good.

"I'm not a little child, Zev. You don't have to protect me all the time. You _promised_ not to roleplay Gran, remember?"

"Yes. I did. But still–"

"No more arguing. Are you with me or not?"

Tch. As if he'd let him go alone. Oh well. He hadn't had a proper fight since they came to Orzammar. As long as they didn't wander too far, they should be fine. If there _was_ a fight, they would kill a few guys, create chaos and run for it. "As you wish. At least promise me you won't say anything cheeky."

Airam laughed. "I'll try. Don't worry, we're going to be fine."

"You, perhaps. But I'm a dead man. Even if we survive the Dust Town, Wynne will blame me for taking you to the most dangerous part of the town. She almost ate me alive last night for making you drunk."

"Oh Maker." Airam sounded and looked positively embarrassed. "I'm sorry for that, I didn't mean to get you into trouble. I promise I'll explain everything when we return, all right?"

Zevran shook his head. "And she'll say it's because of my bad influence on you. No, my dear–if we go to the Dust Town, my blood is on your hands. I hope you can live with that."

"I'll manage. Let's go."

His impeding death sentence apparently didn't mean much to Airam. He complained about it during the whole way to the Dust Town, but the crazy kid found it _funny_ and laughed.

Good.

oOo

During his career as a Crow, he had seen many slums and alienages, dirty, miserable and reeking of despair. Dust Town was the same. Narrow streets, dilapidated houses with walls blackened with mould and dirt, piles of half-rotten rubbish teeming with rats and other vermin, air that was hardly breathable. People with unhealthy yellowish skin, dressed in rags without any shape and colour, hair tied in matted dreadlocks, staring at them with hungry eyes.

"Maker's breath," Airam said weakly, "how can they live like this?"

Zevran gave the boy worried look. This was one of the reasons he didn't want Airam to come here. Mages in the Circle didn't exactly have comfortable life, but it couldn't compare with real poverty and hunger.

"Do you need money? Two silver for teeth, five silver for braids!"

Airam wanted to turn to the voice, but he tugged at his elbow. He didn't want to attract any more attention. They were already being watched; shadows crept at the border of his vision, careful not to be seen, but still there. Four–no, five. Maybe more. Nothing difficult... for now. But it was better not push their luck further. Now that crazy kid saw how the life in the slum was, they could go back, no? There was nothing they could do anyway.

He just opened his mouth to suggest it when they heard heartbreaking cry of a little child. And nothing in the world would stop Airam from helping a crying child. So he closed his mouth again and silently followed Airam to the young girl with a crying baby in her arms. She didn't belong here, that much was obvious at the first sight. Women in slums aged quickly–no matter how beautiful a woman was, by the time they reached twenty their cheeks had sunken in, their teeth rot, and their eyes were dead. This one was bit pale, but still well preserved; she couldn't have been here for long. Interesting.

Airam knelt down next to the woman. "Hello," he said hesitantly. She looked at him in panic. "Please don't be afraid, I don't want to hurt you. I'm Airam Surana, the Warden-Commander. I noticed the baby is ill... I happen to know bit of healing magic. Not much, but maybe I could help, if you let me."

The woman stared at him with wide eyes. "You–you would? May the ancestors bless you, serah! Please help my son!"

She handed the boy to Airam, who cast the healing spell at once. Zevran quickly glanced around; they were still followed, and those people would now know that Airam was a mage. But none of the other dwarves seemed to notice. Good. If they noticed, there would be a long line of cripples begging for healing. Crazy as he was, Airam would probably agree and heal them until he was exhausted. And that wouldn't do. What if those five following them attacked when Airam was weak? He did feel sorry for these people, but he would not put Airam in danger because of them.

Soon the baby stopped crying, and fell asleep. Airam returned him to the girl; she gently put him in a bunch of dirty clothes next to her and tried to kiss Airam's hands. "Thank you! Thank you, serah, thank you so much," she repeated again and again.

Airam yanked away, blushing. "P-please, don't–that's not necessary, no, really, I didn't do that much... Anyone would do the same."

She shook her head. "You did more than his father and grandparents; he's a boy, so they want him dead," she said bitterly.

"I don't understand. Why is it important what sex he is?"

"Because his father is a casteless. I am... used to be, of a Warrior caste. I didn't introduced myself, did I? I am Zerlinda, daughter of Ordel Grondal. I met Dain one day when I was coming home from the market. A thug tried to steal my purse and Dain caught him."

Zevran moaned inwardly. She really fell for that?

We started to talk, and... that's how it began. He was so kind to me... always made me feel special, you know.. He... he said he loved me, that I was everything for him... I was such a fool! All he cared for was a child–a girl child. She would be my caste–"

"She wouldn't be casteless?" asked Airam. "But why? It makes no sense."

"The children inherit their caste from the parent of the same sex," she explained. "If my child was a girl, she would live in luxury and everyone would love her; but because he's a boy, he's cursed by the ancestors, and less than dirt. It is not fair! Look at him! He's a baby like any other! Shapers say he doesn't have a soul, but I don't believe it! It can't be true. It can't!" She started to cry again.

"Of course it's not true." Airam took her in his arms and shot helpless look at Zevran.

"These ancestors, they are all long dead, yes? Believe me, my lady, I saw many dead men and I can guarantee they can't curse anyone. They're a bunch of dried bones, at best, and could care less about you and your child."

Airam gave him another look, this time of pure disgust. Oh well. He was an assassin; his task was to kill men, not to comfort their sad widows, no? At least he tried. Besides, it was true.

"What about your parents? I'm sure they would care–"

She laughed without humour. "When Dain saw our child was a boy, he laughed at me, said I'm useless... I was left in shame, with a casteless child and without a husband. My parents, they... they told me to get rid of my son. To bring him into the Deep Roads and leave him there do die. They will not accept me as their daughter unless I do so. But... how could I do such thing? How would I be able to live with myself?"

"Only a monster would do that." Airam's voice was flat. "If you want, you can come with me."

Zevran blinked. He expected that Airam would offer some help, but this was too much. If they take this girl with them, tomorrow they'd have several dozens knocking on their doors. But how could he stop him now, without making him look like a fool?

"You can stay with Gran," Airam continued enthusiastically. "I'm sure she won't mind sharing a room with you. She's a nice person and a great healer. You can stay there while we're in the Deep Roads, and after that, you can come with us to the surface. I'm sure Bann Teagan or Erwin will help us to find a place for you. It won't be easy, but it will be still better than staying here."

Zerlinda's eyes lit with a new hope. "You would do that for me? But... why? Why going so far for someone you don't even know?"

_Good question. I'd like to know that, too. _Well... in truth, he thought he knew Airam's reason. And he knew he wouldn't want it to be different, no matter how naïve it was.

"Because I can't let an innocent child suffer just because he was born as a boy." Airam bowed over the baby and gently stroke it's cheek. "People who are willing to hurt a baby are worse than darkspawn," he declared.

Naturally, Zerlinda agreed. Who would let go of such a chance? Thank the Maker, it made Airam to decide they should return to the inn, for the sake of the baby. They hurried back and for a while he thought they'd get out without problems... when the five that followed them decided to intervene.

"Stop right there, surfacers!" one of them shouted. "Where are you taking that woman?"

"Out of this cesspit," Airam snapped.

"Cesspit, is it?" another one asked. "Watch your tongue, kid. We won't let you insult our home."

"Oh, please _do_ forgive me," the crazy kid said, apparently having forgotten all about their agreement not to be cheeky. "I meant this charming place full of flowers, butterflies and rainbows. Can we go now?"

"And such place is not fit for a fine lady like her, is that so?" asked a third one. Zevran narrowed his eyes–the dwarf matched the Shaper's description of the guy who stole the tome.

"So you came to the rescue. How much did her daddy pay you to get her back? Share with us, and we'll let you go. Seventy percent, how about that? No? Then what about eighty?"

"You think I'm doing this for money? Too bad. I don't give a damn about her parents. They're monsters who wanted to kill a child. But tell you what. You're the one who stole the tome from the Shaperate, right? Give it to me and I'll give you five sovereigns, in silver."

_Brasca. There is no way they'll let us go without fight, now that we know they're thieves. _Zevran put hands on his daggers, ready to attack any time.

"I don't know how you found out, but you're not telling the guards," the guy said, confirming his fears.

But Airam just laughed. "Tell them what? That the guy who stole the book is here? They already know that, you know. And besides, why in the Void would I do that? I don't like the Shapers that much, I like guards of any kind even less–blame the Templars for that if you want–and I'm a convicted criminal myself. I want to find the book because I promised I'd try; I never promised to catch the thief."

The only one who wasn't staring at Airam in shocked surprise was the baby.

"What? You don't believe me?" The crazy kid laughed again. "I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens because I helped a guy who used forbidden school of magic to run away from justice."

Ah. Clever. Completely crazy, but clever. And it worked; the thugs were too confused, and unsure what to make of this weird Warden.

Airam used it to press on. "I would love to help the people in Dust Town more. I plan to come back tomorrow with a healer... I can't save everyone, obviously, but while I'm in Orzammar, I promise I'll help."

In the end they got out of the cursed place without a fight. Incredible. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or angry. Perhaps it would be better if there was a fight, at least a small one. Now the crazy kid would be even more smug and reckless... but at least they could not complain it was boring, no?

oOo

The others were quite surprised when they returned with another girl; Leliana asked him if he had given up on Airam and decided to run a harem. As if he needed more reasons to assassinate her. She really was asking for trouble.

Much to his surprise, Wynne wasn't angry they went to the Dust Town. She listened carefully to Airam's description of the terrible situation there and agreed to do as much as she could to help. Including giving up all her personal money to buy poultices, ingredients for medicine, and food. Alistair and Leliana agreed too, and soon they were planning the cleaning of Dust Town and cooking of free lunches. As if it was that simple. As if it would change anything. It was useless–the moment they were gone, things would be the same as before. Worse, even; it's easy to get used to better things, and very difficult to go back. Besides, the other dwarves would not like it; from carta to nobles, they would get angry and try to stop them. But no matter what he, Morrigan or Sten said, it did not convince the naïve fools.

When Dulin came, Airam asked him what was Lord Harrowmont's opinion on the situation of the casteless. Not knowing that the Wardens had decided to change the dwarven society, he answered honestly–the casteless are trash, Lord Harrowmont doesn't care about them–and the meeting was over before it even started properly. Zevran had a very bad feeling about all this. This would cause trouble.

But in the next few days, troubles did not come. One day of healing and free food, and the casteless loved them as heroes. The thief–Faren Brosca–and some of his friends helped as well, acting as their bodyguards against thugs and carta. And on the second day, several other dwarves appeared, offering help. It turned out they were _Andrastians_, as improbable as it was. The brother leading them explained that they converted thanks to the surfacer merchant who spent his last years in Orzammar, but they had no revered mother, because the Shaperate did not officially allowed the Chantry.

"Leave it to me," the crazy kid said. "I can arrange that." By which he meant he forced Faren to tell him the name of the guy who bought the tome and then sent Zevran and Sten to "convince" the guy to give it back. Then he took it to the Shaperate... and when he returned, he was beaming like a lighthouse.

"All done! The Chantry is allowed! And tell you what. After I'm done here, I'm going to Denerim. I'm sure I can find a revered mother who will be willing to come and teach you. The new king will owe me, and allow it, of that I'm sure."

"Is he always like this?" Faren asked, while they watched the dwarves carried a protesting and laughing Airam on their shoulders.

Zevran chuckled. "Most of the time, yes."

"But _why_?"

Zevran shrugged. "He's simply crazy like that."

oOo

The day of their departure to the Deep Roads was coming closer, however. Dagna's father promised to have their armour and weapons ready in five days, good as new. They had maps, heaps of food, potions and poultices, everything neatly packed and waiting; they could not delay it for the charity work with the casteless. And the moment they were not there, the carta would make the problems again, and the little progress they made would be lost.

They were discussing it every evening; the last one before their departure was no different.

"Someone will have to stay here. Wynne you're a healer, you're the most useful for these poor people. And Leliana, you as a sister could help with the new chantry... And Alistair. You'll protect them, all right?"

"No way! Why me? I'm a Grey Warden, I should go to the Deep Roads! Make Sten stay here!"

Sten frowned. "No."

"I want you to stay _because_ you're a Grey Warden. It'll be more official if some of the nobles try to make problems. Faren will help you; he volunteered to be recruited to the Wardens yesterday."

"And you accepted? He's a thief! Besides, we don't even know how to do the Joining!"

"But we'll find out, one day," Airam said merrily. "And Daveth was also a thief. Duncan recruited him when he tried to pickpocket him. I'm sure he'll do fine."

"That is reckless, Kadan. We can't let Alistair stay. The Deep Roads are dangerous. We will need as many skilled warriors as possible."

A loud burp interrupted them. "Then I'll go with you."

They all turned to the door. A dwarf staggered a step or two forward. "You want to find Branka? Then you need me. I am the only one who knows where she wanted to go and what she wanted to find. Take me with you, and I'll tell you what I know."

"Is that so?" Airam asked. Zevran thought the dwarf was lucky he wasn't an ice statue yet. He certainly wasn't very convincing, looking and smelling like a walking barrel of whiskey. With fiercely red wig on the top.

The dwarf burped again, undisturbed by Airam's distrust. "Yeah. Branka is my wife. Left me for her expedition two years ago. Silly woman."

Previously, Zevran wondered what would make a famous smith, a revered Paragon, leave for the Deep Roads. He had suspected that she was insane, and that the whole mission would be a waste of time. Now, he decided he wronged her.


	19. Tainted Lives

Thanks to my dear Seika for still having patience with MANY errors I make. :D

* * *

**Tainted Lives**

"Take care of yourself; the Deep Roads are dangerous. Keep your energy for fighting, healing, or any case where it's absolutely necessary to use, but don't waste it by showing off." Wynne tucked an unruly lock of hair behind Airam's ear and smoothed his robes. He looked terribly embarrassed, but held his ground bravely.

"Of course. I don't show off."

Wynne snarled. "Only because I'm there to stop you. Otherwise, you'd waste your energy every time someone complained it's too hot or dark or whatever else."

"But Gran–"

"Oh, I don't have any illusions of you listening," she sighed. "Despite what you might believe, I used to be young too. Just be careful."

"Don't worry, Gran, we'll be fine."

Zevran watched the scene, wondering why it made him feel so uncomfortable. He _didn't_ like Wynne. She was an insufferable know-it-all who thought that her age gave her the right to stick her ugly crooked nose into other people's business. There were a few times when she irritated him so much that the old hag was _very_ close to having a deadly accident. So why did moments like this make him uneasy, almost… envious? No, that was ridiculous.

"All right, then. Are you all ready? Can we go?" Airam briskly walked over their backpacks lined up against the wall, trying to mask his embarrassment. With a sigh, he put the backpack on his shoulders.

After the breakfast was eaten and digested, all the lost socks were found and packed, and they said their goodbyes to everyone at least three times, it was safe to say that yes, they were finally ready to go. If his Crow Masters could see the chaos that ensued each time they left somewhere… he grinned. The ways of their fearless leader were perhaps less efficient those of the Crow Masters, but much more fun.

"What?" Airam asked defiantly, when he noticed Zevran's grin. "There are no books. You took out the last one an hour ago."

"Which means you had a whole hour to put it back, yes?"

Airam shot him a look of pure disgust and turned away, but not before he caught the hint of a sly smile on Airam's face. Ah-ha. So… not in the backpack? He chuckled. Always so creative in finding ways to smuggle books, this crazy kid.

Finally, they were all ready and filed out of the inn. It was early morning, but that didn't matter here: the air was dry and hot at all times of the day. The streets were almost empty, and the few dwarves that hurried by didn't pay any attention to their strange procession. Good. The less curious eyes the better.

The guards in front of the gate to the Deep Roads saluted them and wished them luck in grave voices–obviously not believing they would return. But they would. They were good at extraordinary tasks. What were dwarven tunnels to mountains teeming with lunatics and dragons, or a wild ancient forest full of living trees and werewolves? They would be fine.

oOo

He wasn't sure what he had expected from the Deep Roads, but he was slightly disappointed. The roads were broad, high, and paved the same way as in Orzammar, illuminated by many torches rimming the walls. Everything was peaceful and quiet; their steps echoed through the vast space.

"So… this is it?" Airam voiced his disappointment.

Oghren snorted. "Nah. We haven't reached the fun part yet. These first miles are regularly patrolled by Orzammar guards, so there are no darkspawn here."

After a few minutes, they had their first proof of his words. There had to have been a big battle shortly before their arrival, or so Zevran thought. The blood and corpses looked rather fresh. All of the bodies belonged to darkspawn, so the dwarves had to have won. He quickly looked around, listening carefully for any hint of guards, but everything was quiet.

"How come we didn't hear the fight?" he asked.

"How do you expect to hear a battle that ended days ago?"

"Corpses decay differently in hot and dry air," Sten explained. "I would expect an assassin to know that."

"Ah, my grumpy friend, I am only involved in the pleasant part before the killing and the act itself. I do not stay around to do cleaning, yes?"

"That doesn't matter now," Airam said quickly, to avoid a quarrel; after the night at the inn, he was still trying to be friendlier towards Sten. "Let's move on."

The further they went, the more remnants of past fights they saw. Always only darkspawn; and yet it felt depressing and sad. Maybe it was because of all the cracks in the walls and on the road, or the tiles broken and blackened with dirt and blood. There were less and less torches on the wall and the air smelled so badly that it made Dust Town look like a pleasant spa. Airam summoned wisps, one for each of them; their greenish light made everything even more eerie.

A few miles later, the road came to a sudden end, blocked by a huge pile of rocks and soil. Two great tunnels opened at the each side of the road; the stench coming from them was sickening.

"This is sooner than I expected," Oghren said.

"You expected the road to be blocked?" Airam asked. "And you didn't think you should tell me?"

"Nah. What would be the point? It doesn't matter. We can use the tunnels."

"But how did you know the road would be blocked?"

"Because the sodden roads are too wide."

"I see," Sten muttered.

Airam looked from one to the other. "Well, I don't. What does it have to do with anything?"

"The dwarves don't have enough force to defend them. If they left the roads as they are, it would make an advantage for darkspawn to attack," Sten explained, when Oghren didn't reply.

"What about tunnels, then? Why are they still open?"

"More importantly," Morrigan cut in, "how will we now get to Caridin's Cross? 'Tis not certain these tunnels go there."

Oghren shrugged. "We know the direction. We will find the way."

That didn't sound very reassuring, but there was nothing else to do. After a short discussion, they decided to try the tunnel to the left first; the air was bit more breathable there.

"This is getting better and better," Airam muttered as they entered. "And I can already feel darkspawn. I can't tell how many, but they're not far. Better be ready, everyone."

"You surfacers are all sissies," Oghren said derisively. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Zevran chuckled. "Shall we compete for points? Dwarven axe against elven daggers? If you win, I'll buy you an ale of your choice. Full barrel. What say you, hm?"

"Deal. And if you win, I'll buy you the strongest dwarven drink. It's called Dragon Piss. One glass and you'll grow a beard."

Dragon Piss? Hm. Perhaps it would be better to lose, for a change.

oOo

The tunnels were the most disgusting place Zevran had ever seen. Once or twice they got back to the road again; after the dark tunnels, the roads seemed bright and beautiful, and full of fresh air. But it never lasted long before they reached another blockage; darkspawn had conquered this part long ago, and there were more holes in the walls than in Alistair's favourite cheese.

_Brasca_! Why were darkspawn so stupid! If they simply cleared the road, instead of digging the tunnels, this would have been so much more pleasant.

The darkness was worst of all. Everyone except Oghren and Shale soon lost their sense of direction and time after few hours. They walked on, until they were too hungry or too tired to continue. Only then they would stop and have a cold meal–the tunnels were not build in the generous dwarven way; it would be dangerous to lit a fire. Sometimes the tunnel would open into a cave; if they were lucky, they reached them before it was time to lie down. If not, they had to sleep in the tunnel, which was both uncomfortable and dangerous. For the first time, they had two guards during nights. But as each was patrolling the other end of the tunnel, it was not possible to talk. It seemed ages since he had had a proper chat with his crazy kid.

Yes, he truly hated the tunnels.

That they were full of darkspawn and overgrown lizards did nothing to improve his mood. The lizards were the most annoying creatures he ever had the pleasure to kill. They were weak, but always attacked in huge packs. In the narrow tunnels, it seemed every time they killed one, another two popped up. After what felt like a week or so, the tunnels and caves started to change. They were bigger, taller, and occasionally they saw ruins of old buildings.

Oghren was pleased to see that. "We are lucky, Warden. We travelled faster than I thought."

"So this is Caridin's Cross, then?"

"No, it's even better. We're near one of the ancient thaigs. It is possible Branka came through here on her search of the Anvil."

"A town? Excellent!" Airam's eyes immediately sparkled with a new spirit and determination. "Let's go, I want to reach it before dinner!"

Sten nodded approvingly. "I agree. We need to search for clues as soon as possible."

"Sure, sure! But, say, Oghren, did ancient dwarves know bath tubes?"

"Bath tubes?" Sten's approval dissipated as quickly as it came. "Warden. How can you think of such petty things –"

" 'Tis a brilliant idea," Morrigan snapped. "If _you_ don't want a bath, by all means, no one will force you. In fact, I can also cancel the bug repellent spell from you. No need to waste magic on such a petty thing." That was enough to silence the Qunari–without that spell, the tunnels would have been much more unbearable.

The prospect of hot, steaming bath improved the mood immediately. And when they saw the tunnel opening into the biggest cave yet, Airam hurried forward, ignoring all warnings. As usual. He cast a spell to see what was in the cave.

"Andraste's holy shit!"

That didn't sound like awe. More like panic.

"Warden, what–"

"Run! RUN!" Their currently not so fearless leader sprinted back to them as fast as he could.

For a second, they all just stood there watching him, more amused than scared. Then they heard it. The quick scraping of many legs, crawling impatiently towards them.

"Retreat! That's an order!"

There were huge shapes emerging from darkness behind Airam. Zevran decided that whatever they were, he didn't really want to know. He took one of the grenades with strong poison off his belt, and the moment Airam reached him, threw it towards the shapes. Not waiting to see if it worked, he turned and followed Airam.

After some time they couldn't hear the sound any more, and dared to stop. All was quiet. Nothing was behind them.

"You may calm down now," he turned to Airam, whose face was still ashen. "I guess the poison got it, whatever it was."

"I really doubt that, Zev. Or does your poison work even on spiders?"

"It is afraid of _insects_?" Shale asked in disbelief. "I thought It has more courage, but It is an ordinary squishy thing after all."

"It may be a squishy thing, but it likes itself enough not to want to become food for spiders," Airam snapped irritatingly. "There must be at least a hundred of them in that cave. And–and one of them was five times bigger than when Morri transforms."

Sten was just as offended as Shale. "That's ridiculous. Do not hide your fear behind-"

" 'Tis quite possible, in fact," Morrigan cut in. "Every nest has its own spider queen; they are extremely big and strong."

What was this? Morrigan, helpful and supportive, _twice_ in one day? There must be a catch. Zevran decided to keep a closer eye on the witch. But right now, there were more pressing matters. "So what are we going to do? Can we go some other way?"

Oghren shrugged. "We can go back to the last road exit and try few other tunnels, maybe they will go in the direction we need."

Nobody wanted to do that. Airam wasn't happy about it, but even he agreed that the only solution was to fight their way through the nest.

"You do not have to worry, _bello mio_," said Zevran, "I will protect you from all of the evil spiders, yes?"

"Such bravery, Zev! As you wish, then. I have an idea how to do this, and you'll have a crucial part in it. You are the only one who is ridiculously awesome and can do it. Without you, we're all doomed. Will you help?"

"Ah, say no more, you make me blush like a little girl. You know I'm your man, without reservation."

"Excellent! What I want to do is this: Morri and I will prepare our strongest spells–the same as in Redcliffe. But we can't cast them from here. We'll have to go back, right to the entrance of the cave, and prepare them there."

"What if the spiders notice you?"

"Well, that's where you come in. You'll creep into the nest before we come and stay hidden until we start casting. Then, you'll show yourself to spiders, and distract them until we're ready."

"You must be joking, yes? Ha, ha."

"What's wrong? Surely a great assassin like you is not afraid of few spiders? Don't worry, I will protect you." Airam's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Come on, it can't be worse than in the Assembly of deshyrs. After all, why should I be the only one always thrown in the middle of monsters?"

oOo

If he survived this, he would never again tease Airam about spiders. He halted, barely avoiding a spider that crawled right into the place he wanted to step in. It was almost impossible to sneak. The blasted creatures were everywhere, covering almost every centimetre of the floor. Three times already he was almost sure they noticed him; luckily it was always a false alarm. He was drenched in cold sweat. Never in his life had he been this afraid–not even in the Circle Tower. _Could_ spiders smell? Or hear? He hoped they couldn't.

At least they were not very fast. With those big, fat bodies and thin legs it was a wonder they could move at all. They were the ugliest and creepiest creatures he had ever seen–especially their eyes. They had a huge pair of eyes in the front and with two smaller eyes at each side; but they had another two pairs in the rear. He only knew what was in front because one of them was feeding on an unfortunate hurlock.

He decided he was far enough in, and turned back to watch the entrance. There was no sign of the others yet. What took them so long? What if something happened? What if they couldn't come? What if they didn't _want_ to come? The Crows wouldn't. They'd use him as a sacrifice and sneak unnoticed through the room. Of course, Airam wouldn't do it... but Sten? Or Morrigan? What if they convinced Airam–a wave of panic rushed through him. No. No, they wouldn't do that. They wouldn't!

Then a rock projectile hit the spider nearest to him. Shale! They were here! Now to do his part. The spiders jumped at him the moment he dissolved the shadows. Literally. How could they jump like that? But the shield and glyphs Airam cast on him resisted their attacks, and the spiders bounced back. It would have been funny, if it hadn't attracted the attention of every bloody spider in the room to him.

_Brasca_, what were those two doing? How long could it take to cast two spells?

As if in response, the temperature in the cave dropped rapidly, and the air sizzled with lightning. Here it was–the combined power of Airam's blizzard and Morrigan's tempest. He almost cried in relief as he watched the ugly creatures freeze. And a moment later, Sten, Oghren and Shale ran to his side.

"Ah, there you are," he said with a wide grin. "You almost missed all the fun. I started to think you gave up on our bet."

Oghren snorted. "Heh. As if I would lose to the likes of you. I can kill more spiders with my fart than all of you together." He swished his axe and cut the nearest spider in half.

"I have no doubt of _that_," Sten said dryly, as he shattered another. "Don't."

Shale didn't say anything, just slammed her fist into another spider.

Zevran grinned. Together, they were unstoppable, ridiculously awesome–

"Zev! Sten! BEHIND YOU!"

He swirled around and saw... legs. And the bottom of a huge belly. What the–then it dawned on him. The spider queen.

The spiders were crawling from all sides, obviously determined to turn them into dinner as soon as possible. Zevran couldn't blame them–you didn't get several such juicy morsel like him or Airam every day. Shale would be hard to chew, and Sten and Morrigan would probably be indigestible… but he preferred not to find out.

The biggest problem was jumping; the damned creatures could jump on them from the other side of the cave. To see big, strong claws flying at you at terrible speed was enough to give one nightmares for the rest of his life.

_Brasca_! Such a fight was not for him. He needed to disappear and attack from behind. But how? They were surrounded! All of the remaining spiders were now focused on them. At this rate, they were all going to–

A sudden flash illuminated the cave, and the huge monster was encircled by a wall of light.

"I'll keep the big one from attacking!" shouted Airam. "Finish the small ones!"

_Finish? I haven't even started yet! _A thunder echoed through the cave. It had sobering effect on Zevran. _That's right. I'm not fighting alone. We can do this. _He glanced over at Sten, who was attacking spiders with his usual stoic expression, and his mood immediately improved.

The storm was growing stronger every moment. Strong wind was bringing whirls of snow and ice, tipping the scales to their favour. The temperature dropped down even more. With surprise, Zevran realized he _liked_ the fresh wind and cold and took several deep breaths. It was the best proof how disgusting this place was, making an Antivan enjoy the snow.

The spiders obviously disagreed; the constant sizzling sound of the lightning was driving them crazy. They tried to escape, but there was nowhere to run. The snow drifts managed to slow them down. And when they tried to jump, the wind would carry them away from their target. Confused and panicking, they became berserk, striking blindly at everything that moved. He _almost_ felt bad for them… but between killing them and becoming their snack, he knew his choice.

He pulled out his daggers from another dead spider and turned to check the others. Shale was on the other end of the cave, throwing stone missiles; Sten and Oghren were fighting together, encircled by several spiders. It didn't seem they were having anytrouble.

"Aim for their legs!" he advised anyway.

Oghren looked over the shoulder at him. "Oh look. The pointy ears killed its first one," he snickered. "You owe me a barrel of ale, lass."

There was no time to answer; another spider was already trying to sneak up at him. Tch. As if a mere spider could outsneak a Crow.

When they finally turned to the spider queen, it was already hurt and disoriented on its enormous legs from Airam's and Morrigan's constant paralysis and freezing. Which was good; they were too exhausted to fight it at its full strength. It was a long, tedious fight and they all sighed with relief when it was finally over.

They were mostly uninjured, with a few bruises and scratches here and there; fighting with mages made things so easy! It seemed so long since he had fought without a mage at his side; Zevran wondered why the Crows didn't insist on having one during each fight. It was much more efficient and neat. Not that he was going to suggest it. Just to be on the safe side, he forced Oghren and Sten take antidotes against spider poison.

"Maker, I'm tired." Airam slumped down on the floor and rummaged his backpack until he found a lyrium potion. "If it goes on like this, I'll run out of potions in two days."

Zevran gave him a reproachful look. "You should not drink so much of that stuff. It's dangerous."

"You don't say. Since when you're an expert on lyrium?"

"Since Wynne explained it to me. She said-"

"I know what she says about it, thank you," snapped Airam. "I will remind you that you _promised_ not to impersonate Gran. I love her, but one is enough. Unless you want to bake a pie. That is allowed."

Sten looked at Zevran with sudden respect. "You can bake a pie?"

"Alas, no. My education in that area was neglected, I'm afraid. But maybe our lovely wild witch can."

"Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I am your servant," Morrigan bristled, when Sten turned to her. "And stop staring at me like that. 'Tis maddening!"

Zevran looked around the cave. Perhaps he should collect some spider poison, and make some more antidotes–what was that? There was something crawling near the tunnel at the other end of the cave. It didn't look like a darkspawn... he quietly got up and sneaked closer.

It was a dwarf. Not one of the guards, that much was clear at the first sight. He looked... wild. Dressed in furs and hides, crudely sewn together, with long hair and a beard that looked as if it was never introduced to a comb; and the smell was second only to darkspawn. Whoever this dwarf was, he had been living in this terrible place for a long time. What was he doing? At first he thought the dwarf was also collecting poison, but it was not so. He was... eating.

"He's eating spiders?" Airam asked, bewildered, when he returned to inform the others about the dwarf. "Eeeew. Whoever it is, he must be hungrier than a Warden. Poor sod."

"If you want to help that dwarf, you will have to give him your own supplies," Morrigan joined them. "Do you think he's one of Branka's people?"

It probably was. Who else could it be? It was worth asking him, at least. But the moment he saw them coming, he yelped and crawled away with surprising speed. They grabbed their things and ran after him, through the cave, another tunnel, until they came to a small, narrow hole in the wall. Not big enough for spiders, and easily defended against darkspawn. Not bad.

"I hope you don't expect me to crawl through that," Morrigan said the moment they found it. "I refuse."

Airam sighed. "You know, I knew you would say that," he said, which made Morrigan scowl even more. "And Sten and Shale are too big. Anyone else wants to stay?"

"Nah. I'm coming." Oghren put down his backpack. "But don't you dare go drinking my stuff while I'm gone, or I'll feed you to the nearest darkspawn."

"You need not worry, dwarf. Nobody is interested in that piss of yours," Morrigan snapped haughtily.

"Is it piss? I thought it was ale," Sten said.

"It's ale," Oghren protested. "The best in the whole world."

Morrigan ignored his comment, and turned to Sten. "Have you ever heard of ale smelling that bad?"

"No," Sten admitted.

" 'Tis as I said."

"Sodding surfacers," Oghren grumbled. "Wouldn't know good ale if you fell in it."

"Falling in it? Not even the Archdemon deserves such a cruel death."

Airam laughed and tapped Oghren on the shoulder. "Come, we better go. You should know that you can't win an argument against Morrigan. Alistair could talk about it. Zev, are you coming?"

"Ready when you are," he said, grinning. He could imagine what Alistair would have to say, if he was here.

"All right, then. We'll meet you in the cave with the spiders. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two." Airam sighed. "I hope. After that battle, I need a bath more than ever. Scout ahead a bit, but don't go too far and try to avoid any fighting. Between yourselves, as well." He chuckled, ignoring Morrigan's pout.

"You better worry about yourselves. Do not expect me to come running to your rescue if you get into trouble," she said coldly.

Airam laughed. "I love you too, Morri. Let's go."

oOo

Airam sent Rask in front of them, to follow the dwarf's smell; they crawled behind him on their hands and knees. Luckily, it didn't take long before they heard Rask's barking, and crawled out into a small cave. It was crudely furnished, probably by things found in the ruins, and enlightened by a small fire.

The dwarf was crouched in a corner, covering his head, terrified of Rask's growling. Airam quickly called off the mabari and step a little forward, with his arms spread.

"Please, don't be afraid. We mean no harm to you. We would only like to talk."

The dwarf shot a quick look at him, but then he shook his head. "No! No! Go away! Ruck does not want to talk to you. This is Ruck's house. Leave it, leave Ruck alone!"

"So your name is Ruck? I'm Airam. Nice to meet you. Please, all we would like to know is if you know anything about Branka, the paragon. Did you come here with her?"

"Branka? No, no, no Branka. Ruck knows no Branka. No paragon. Ruck is here alone. Ruck doesn't want Branka at his territory. Is she here? Take her, take her and go away. Leave Ruck alone!"

"No, she is not here. She came, two years ago. Were you already here, at that time?"

"Yes, yes. Ruck was here. Five years, five years in darkness. Ruck does not complain, Ruck deserves darkness."

"Five years?" asked Airam incredulously. "That is a cruel punishment. Nobody deserves that."

"Ruck does. He got angry. And then, someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. Ruck didn't want to go to the mines. Everyone would know what he did. Mother would know. She would be sad. Ruck didn't want her to be sad. So he ran here, instead."

Zevran stared at the dwarf. He sentenced himself to life here, because of one killing? It wasn't even a proper murder; only a crude act of rage. He wouldn't be surprised to find out the dwarf was drunk, at that time. And for that he confined himself here? Just so his mother wouldn't find out? It seemed so... excessive.

"Ruck does not know Branka, but Ruck remembers a lot of dwarves came once. They stayed in his territory. Near old houses. Scarred of Ruck's prey. Ruck was hungry for days, till they left."

"That was Branka with her people, I'm sure of it!" Airam beamed. "Do you perhaps remember which direction they left?"

"No, Ruck doesn't know. Ruck only remembers two dwarven ladies. Ruck remembers, because they were pretty." The dwarf smiled. "Yes, yes. Pretty ladies. Very pretty. They went away from others, and Ruck followed in shadows and watched. Ruck meant no harm. Only watched."

"Yes, I understand that," Airam smirked, shooting an amused look at Zevran. He pretended he didn't notice.

"They were angry. Shouting. One of them wanted to go back home. But it made the other one angry. She said, she would go with or without the others."

"Sounds like Branka," said Oghren, trying hard to look indifferent. "She decided to find the sodding Anvil, and nothing would stop her."

Airam nodded. "Please, continue. Do you remember anything else?"

"Yes. Ruck remembers the first one crying. She did not want the other one to leave. Then they hugged and kissed-"

Both Zevran and Airam quickly glanced at Oghren, who was glaring at Ruck as if he wanted to behead them on the spot. Then he pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long swig.

"Hah! That's a pile of nug shit," he said when he finished. "He's good as sodding gone. It is useless, Warden. We're wasting our time with him. We should go back."

The dwarf frowned at Oghren. "Ruck is not mad. Ruck doesn't like you. You don't know. You don't have the darkness. He does," he pointed to Airam. "I can see it, the darkness in you. You're the same as Ruck. Same darkness, in your blood."

"The Taint," Oghren muttered quietly.

Airam winced and stepped back from dwarf. "No. I am _not_ like you!"

"Did you eat the dark ones, too?" the dwarf continued. "It helps. When you take the darkness into you, you don't miss the light so much any more."

"I did _not_ eat darkspawn and I'm _not_ like you!" Airam yelled, suddenly surrounded by an icy aura.

The dwarf pressed himself against the wall, covering his face again. "Don't hurt Ruck! You promised you wouldn't hurt him," he whined.

"No… of course not." Airam rubbed his eyes. "Do you remember anything else?"

But Ruck shook his head. "Ruck doesn't remember. Ruck doesn't want to talk to you any more. Leave Ruck alone!"

"All right, all right, we're going. Thank you for your help. Let's go, guys."

Zevran felt sorry for the miserable wretch. It was cruel to leave him here like this. "Perhaps it would be more merciful to kill him," he suggested. "I saw poison victims who were in better shape. Let me end his suffering."

The intensity of Ruck's whining increased tenfold. Airam watched him thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No. No, we will not kill him. We have no right to end his life just because we don't like it. He deserves to live as he wants. Or do you disagree?"

"That…" Zevran sighed. "No. It's true."

Airam turned back to Ruck and smiled. "I am sorry we bothered you. Don't worry, we're leaving now. I'm sorry I can't help you more, but at least have this. As a thank you for your information, all right?" He pulled the few healing potions from the pouch at his belt. "Drink it when you're sick, or injured. It will help."

That calmed Ruck down, a little bit. He took one bottle and sniffed it; his face spread into wide grin. "Ruck likes its smell. Nice. Fresh. Ruck misses cool water… will it stop the song?"

"No. I'm sorry. Nothing can stop the song," said Airam softly. "Take care of yourself."

Oghren was first to leave, hurrying forward without saying another word to Ruck. Quite understandable, after the news he heard. But Zevran was more concerned about Airam, who was walking quietly, lost in his thoughts, hardly noticing where he was walking.

The taint. The song. What did it mean_? Remember what happened the last time you drank blood_. The words Alistair had said in the Temple echoed through his mind. Was this what it meant? Did Airam drink the blood of those blasted creatures? But why would he do such thing? And, more importantly, if he had the darkspawn taint… would he also change like Ruck, in time? A cold dread filled him. _Maker, no. Please make him be all right_.

oOo

Despite her harsh words before, Morrigan seemed quite relieved when she saw them coming. "Good, you're here. We found the town; it is right behind this cave. Come. I left the two oafs there to check if it's safe. We can talk properly when we settle down for night."

"That's amazing news, Morri!" Airam's mood improved immediately. "Lead the way, then."

The town was indeed just few minutes walk away. It was built in the same generous way as Orzammar, with broad roads and tall buildings, though their shapes and decorations were slightly different.

"I was wondering about something, Oghren," he said, "and I believe you are the right man to explain it. Why do you dwarves build such tall houses? Are you trying to compensate for something?"

"Compensating? Heh. Merely showing off how big we are."

Sten frowned. "Dwarves are not big," he objected.

"We are, where it matters. We are-"

"We are _not_ having this discussion," Morrigan cut in dryly.

"We are not having _any_ discussions, right now," Airam corrected. "Let's see if we can find any clue that Branka was here and which way she went. Ruck said they were staying near the houses, but it's quite possible they were staying in the houses, so I suggest starting there.

"Oghren, you're with Sten, search the area to the left. Morri and Shale, you have the central plaza, Zev and I will take the right. Any objections? Good. If you find something, call."

The excitement, if there ever was any, evaporated without a trace on the first floor of the second house. It was slow and boring work, if not very difficult. They had no idea what they were looking for, so they mostly went into the houses, checked chests, cabinets, drawers and such. In most cases they found only spiders–of normal size, thank the Maker. Everything they found were old and covered in dust and might had been laying there for centuries.

But there was a ray of joy in it, too; the dwarves _did_ have bathtubs. Which was good, because he was now covered not only in spiders' blood, but also in dust. Together it formed a disgusting, itching crust. If he didn't clean himself soon, he would jump out of his skin, literally.

They just got out of the tenth house or so, when they heard Shale calling. The others were already standing in front of the biggest house; the palace of a ruler, no doubt, waiting for them.

"Did you find anything?"

Morrigan was smiling proudly. "They were staying in this palace. Branka had the biggest bedroom on the third floor."

"How do you know?"

"We found her journal." She nodded towards the book Oghren was now reading. "I gave it to him, since he was her husband."

"Her _journal_? Fantastic!" Airam laughed. "I'm starting to believe Leli's vision, you know. The Maker is on our side, guiding our steps! What were the chances that we'd find her journal? All right, let's make this place suitable for people again."

'Making it suitable for people' meant that Morrigan first cast the spell to get rid of the undesired inhabitants of the house. He had already seen this spell many times–they used it to clean the rooms in inns. But this, this was on entirely other level. Both fascinated and disgusted, they watched as a long stream of all kinds of bugs, worms, spiders, rodents and rat crawled away as fast as they could. Rask ran along them, sniffing and puffing, until something bit him in the nose. Whining, he returned to Airam, and didn't move until all vermin was gone.

"All right, then. Zev, you're cooking. Morrigan will help me to prepare baths for everyone–_yes_, Sten including you. No protests. It's an order. You and Shale go and prepare rooms for sleeping. You don't have to do anything, Oghren. Your only task is to read that journal, and find out where they went. Start from the end, if I may suggest. You can read the journal properly later, but right now focus on information we need. All right? Be good boys and girl and I _might_ have a surprise for you."

That evening was the most pleasant since they entered the Deep Roads. The bath was wonderful; Morrigan even gave them some herbs with a wonderful, refreshing smell. It could not replace soap completely, but it was nice to have hair again, not the matted, dirty mass in the shape of his helmet. Airam's surprise was a box of cookies that brought an expression of pure bliss to Sten's face.

And yet… something was wrong. Now that there was nothing more to organize or do, Airam became more and more quiet, not participating in jokes and stories. After some time he excused himself and went up to their room. Zevran was worried. He had an idea of what was the cause, of course. This time, he would not leave him alone, like after the talk with Alistair in Orzammar.

oOo

He knocked on the door, before peeking in. "May I come in?"

Airam was sitting on his bedroll, hugging his knees. "As you're supposed to sleep here tonight, yes, you may," he snapped, but then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Zev. I'm… too tired. I won't be good company tonight."

"You don't need to be 'good company'," he said softly and sat down next to the boy. He hesitated, unsure how to continue; then he decided that for once, it was better to get to the matter directly.

"It is because of Ruck, yes?"

Airam averted his eyes. "He was right."

"In what?"

"I'm like him."

"Because you drank darkspawn blood?"

"What–how–how do you know that?" Airam turned back to him, eyes wide in surprise. "That's a Warden secret!"

Zevran shrugged. "Alistair said you drank blood, back in the Temple. So when Oghren mentioned the taint and you said you didn't eat darkspawn, it wasn't difficult to put it together."

"You're really are incredible," Airam said with a sad smile. "So now you know."

"That you're the same as Ruck? No, I don't know anything like that," he snapped.

"But I will be. It's just a matter of time."

"Oh, so Duncan was like Ruck?"

Airam drew in a sharp breath. "Be glad Alistair's not here. He'd killed you on the spot if he heard that. No, of course Duncan wasn't like Ruck," he said, laughing. "Then again, neither me nor Alistair knew him for very long," he added stubbornly.

"Tell me–I don't want to pry about Warden secrets, but... does it mean it's enough for me to drink darkspawn blood and I'll become a Warden, as well?"

"No!" Airam's face became ashen by fear. "You must never try it. Swear to me, Zevran, that you'll never even think of it! It is poison; it would kill you, or turn you into a ghoul like Ruck. The Joining is also dangerous, but if you survive, the poisoning slows down, for... some time."

"Thirty years?" he suggested with a sly smirk.

Airam stared at him. "That's... _wow_. Do you remember _everything_ we said, since you joined us?"

"That's the assassin training," he shrugged again. "To recognize, collect and analyze useful information. But more importantly, how can you say you are the same as Ruck, knowing all this? Ruck came here because he was desperate and frightened, and has been eating darkspawn and other tainted creatures ever since. It's a miracle he's still alive and more or less sane. You, on the other hand, took a single sip of a darkspawn blood, under the control of the Warden Commander. You are not more like Ruck than you are like tainted wolves, or spiders."

"So... you're... you're not disgusted by me? Now that you know that I'm tainted? That I have darkness in me?" Airam carefully avoided his eyes.

"No offense, _bello mio_, but you know nothing of real darkness," he said bitterly. "Let me tell you a story from Antiva. The only one that matters. Then we can talk about darkness within, yes?"

Airam nodded.

"Two years after I became a full Crow, I already made a name for me. I had no wish to leave the Crows at all. So, my Master decided to make me a leader of a small team. Nothing grand, just me and two fresh Crows. One of them, a human man, by the name of Taliesen. We knew each other since we were kids. The other was an elven girl I never saw before. Rinna, was her name. She was... beautiful. Wicked. Tougher than any men I had ever met."

"You fell in love," said Airam softly.

"In truth, I'm not sure. But we did became lovers. All three of us, I mean." He shot a quick glance at Airam, to see his reaction to that; the boys ears were red like tomatoes, but he didn't say anything.

"We were a good team, and soon became famous. Other teams envied us, our Master bragged that we were the best team ever. Life seemed so easy! For the first time in my life, I was... content. It went like that for years, during which Rinna and I... we became close. I thought I had closed my heart, that I was a perfect Crow. But she touched something in me. It frightened me."

"And Taliesen, he wasn't jealous?"

"Back then, we didn't notice. Or care. Then we got a top-ranked mission, a rich merchant with a lot of guards. It took us weeks to prepare everything. Rinna was our scout, gathering information about the guy. On the day we wanted to act, Taliesen came to me and showed me some documents. They proved that Rinna betrayed us. So, we prepared a trap and confronted her. Of course, she denied everything.

"She begged me not to kill her. But I didn't listen. She said she was innocent, that she didn't betray us... that she loved me. Kneeling before me, with tears in her eyes, she was begging for mercy. I laughed, told her she was fool if she believed in love. That I never loved her."

"But you did," Airam whispered.

"Did I?" he asked bitterly. "Taliesen cut her throat, while I was holding her wrists. When she was dead, I spat on her corpse for betraying the Crows.. The two of us then continued the mission... and we found out that she was telling the truth. She didn't betray us. It was some other guy. Rinna, my Rinna was innocent. And I let her be killed, cut like a pig."

"Oh Maker. I–I don't know what to say."

He closed his eyes. Here it was. Now Airam would finally push him away. It was all he deserved... though he didn't know how he would survive it.

"I'm so sorry, Zev." Airam pulled him into tight hug. "It is horrible."

"Didn't you listen? _I let her die!_" He pulled away, both relieved and angry that the boy didn't want to see the truth. "That is the true darkness. That's what kind of man I am, Air."

"That is not true," Airam insisted. "You were… forced and twisted to be like that. But it's not in your nature. Or you wouldn't be here."

Zevran sighed. Why must this kid be so stubborn? "That I'm here is just a chance," he explained carefully. "You see, when we returned from that mission, we found out our Master knew already what happened. And he didn't care. He laughed at us, and reminded us of what we really were. Nobodies. Worthless slaves, to be used or destroyed as their Masters wish. And that our day would come, too, one day. I realized I only have one freedom–to choose when and how that day will come. But I did _not_ want to fall on my sword like a coward. I wanted to die in a battle. That's why I accepted the mission to kill the Wardens. I thought, if I die, good; if I survive, I'll try again."

"See? You just proved my point," Airam said with a smug grin.

"What point? I just said I _wanted to kill you_! And I did my best to accomplish it, if you remember."

"Really? You better not say that to others. It would ruin your image completely," Airam snapped. "Even _I_ recognized it was a trap, you know. The woman came shouting, 'please help, they're killing us!' but there were no sounds of battle. How dumb did you think we were?"

It was impossible not to laugh. "Ah, what cruel words! Hm… in truth, I underestimated you, yes. I watched your activities in Lothering, and decided that you are… royally naïve, shall we say. I didn't think you were any threat. I humbly admit I was wrong. But, as you let an assassin like me live-though I am eternally grateful for that, do not doubt that–I was not completely wrong, no?" he nudged Airam in the ribs.

"Ah, but how could I kill someone so sexy?" Airam nudged him back.

"Oh, you think I'm sexy, do you?"

"Of course–ah, I mean–I should check if Oghren found out something useful in Branka's journal." Airam scrambled to his feet, red almost like Alistair. Interesting.

"Wait," he called, as Airam reached the door. Airam turned to him, with a small embarrassed smile. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Zevran. I–maybe it was reckless, to let an assassin live. Alistair also thought so, you know. But I'm very happy I was reckless, then. I don't know what would I do without you. I don't think I–ah." Airam stopped, blushing more than Alistair ever did. "I better go, before I make an even bigger fool of myself."

And before Zevran could say anything, he was gone.

For a long time, Zevran sat on the bedroll, gawping at the doorknob, mulling over the last sentence again and again. Did he mean–no, that was just his own wishful thinking. But what if… just maybe… could that be even possible? No. Most unlikely, that. But he could at least hope, no?

* * *

If you want to have nice nightmares, google pictures of jumping spiders and imagine a huge, few meters big ones attacking you. ^^ I based the spiders in the Deep Roads on them. With few changes (like nesting together), to make it fit the canon.

Wynne's pie - yes, it is possible to bake in camp, without a stove. You only need a special pot, that you put under ambers. I ate fish, tomatoes and even bread baked that way many times, and I know some people who really bake pies in it, and swear it's the best, because they have special smell and taste. As that pot is used for centuries, I decided there was no reason why Wynne couldn't have one. But it's one of the things carried in Bodahn's cart, as it's quite heavy. So no pies in Deep Roads. :(

And, before you ask - if Airam didn't flee, Zevran WOULD kiss him, yes. But that's not going to happen so soon. *evil grin*


	20. Marvelus Bosoms

Still in the Deep Roads... they will get out of there eventually, I promise. ^^ This chapter took me a long time, because there are just as many plotholes in the Deep Roads as there are tunnels. **  
**

Thanks to my awesomest beta Seika for her help! :)

* * *

**Marvelous Bosoms**

The days slugged on. Only three had passed since they found the thaig, but it seemed like centuries. Oghren said Branka went to somewhere called Dead Trenches, so that was where they were going, too. Lovely name. Filled you with energy and optimism, no? And once they reached it, what then? Zevran doubted they would find Branka there. Or that she would have conveniently left another journal there.

No, she was either long gone, or dead. Probably the latter, after two years in this smelly pit. The chance that they would find her was next to zero. Their fearless leader was good in extraordinary things but this time, it would be good to have a backup solution. And he might have just one.

He looked around their little camp and sighed. He should discuss it with others, yes? Except, they were not interested in discussing anything right now.

Airam was sitting on his bedroll, hunched over some huge tome, brows furrowed in concentration, the only movement being the occasional turn of a page or a nibble from a piece of a dried ham. But that could be expected. In truth, he would be more worried if the boy was _not_ reading. What was frustrating was that _everyone else_ was reading, as well. Well, except Rask, who was lying at Airam's feet, snapping at the little wisp of light every time it flew by.

Sten was reciting some kind of monotonous poem or prayer from a little book bound in leather; Morrigan was absorbed in studying the book Airam gave her–grimoire, he called it. Even Shale, for crying out loud. She was carefully examining the maps of Deep Roads, as if she was searching for something. And ever since they found Branka's journal, Oghren had spent every free moment reading it, apparently determined to learn it by heart.

Good. At least he wouldn't be disappointed when he had to part with it for a few days. Because that journal played the crucial part in his backup plan.

"I apologize for disrupting the Deep Roads Reading Room," he said aloud, when it became too boring to watch them. "But we should think of what we will do next."

"We're going to the Dead Trenches," Airam replied distractedly, not lifting his eyes from the book.

"Yes. And then?"

"We'll see if Branka is there or if there are any clues."

"And if she's not?"

"We'll decide there." Airam looked up; not at him, but at Oghren, who still pretended not to listen.

" 'Tis clear. If Branka is not there, we will have to go back," said Morrigan. "We will be running out of food."

"You know, I was wondering," said Airam, finally putting the book away, "what has Branka been eating, all this time? Look at how much we had to carry, and that's just for _six weeks_. And that's without water. I doubt Branka had a mage with her, who could supply them with fresh water. Or a golem who agreed to carry the heaviest things." He flashed a smile at Shale.

"They could use carts," suggested Sten, but Airam shook his head.

"Not likely, when it's known that the roads are blocked.

Oghren grunted. "Those who want to stay in here for long time have two options. They could go to the surface to buy supplies. Or they could trade with the Legion of Dead."

"Exits?" asked Zevran.

"Legion of what?" asked Airam at the same time.

"Exits. They are used by Wardens or by the Legion… and by the darkspawn. But it takes time and dwarves don't like to go to surface. The sky can fall on your heads any time, I heard."

Airam laughed. "You heard that the sky can fall on your head?"

"It is true," Zevran said with a dramatic sigh. "It happened to me, as well. Scarred my face–that's why I have the tattoos, yes?"

The look on the dwarf's face was priceless. "The sky did that?"

Even Sten's lips twitched a little at that question.

"No, it didn't," said Airam shooting a dirty look at Zevran. "You should know better than to listen to the silly assassin, Oghren. The sky can't fall down. The only thing that can fall is snow–like what I cast, or rain–that's similar, just not frozen."

"And the Legion of Dead?" asked Sten, as if the whole discussion about the falling sky hadn't happened.

"Oh, them," came the unwilling reply; Oghren was still too preoccupied by the dangers of the sky, eyeing the lines on Zevran's face suspiciously. "They are dwarves who leave everything behind and live in the Deep Roads in order to fight darkspawn. They never go back, except for a few of them, when they need supplies."

"Voluntarily?" asked Airam incredulously.

"Yeah. Guess they didn't have much of a life before that, either, if fighting the darkspawn was that much better. I bet they couldn't find a nice busty woman for–"

"Says the man whose wife chose to live in this wonderful place rather than than stay with him," Morrigan said sweetly. Good thing she interrupted the fool–or he would have very cold and wet night, judging by Airam's murderous look. "I'm more interested to hear the assassin's proposal for the backup plan," she continued before Oghren could reply.

Zevran smiled at her. "Ah, thank you, my dear. It is simple. Even if we find Branka, we can't be sure she will be interested in choosing the king. But we need to bring her decision to the Assembly, yes? Well, my suggestion is to use that." He pointed to Branka's journal. "With the kind approval of her husband, of course," he added quickly, when he saw Oghren's scowl.

"What do you mean?" asked Airam. "How can the journal help us?"

"We only need a little sample, in fact. One page, chosen by our dwarven friend here. Leliana is the bard. It would not be a problem for her to copy the handwriting. I have some experience in it, too, but it was never a priority in our training. Crows are assassins, not spies. Bards, on the other hand…"

"I'm impressed," said Morrigan. " 'Tis perfect! I say, let's do that and get out of this place right now!"

But Sten didn't share her enthusiasm. "No. That would be cheating."

Oghren didn't say anything; he just stared at Airam, who chewed his lip. "No," said Airam after a while. "We will continue with the original plan. We'll go to the Dead Trenches. If Branka is there, we'll ask for her opinion; if she refuses, or if she's not there, then we will use this as the plan B, just like Zev suggests. Would that be all right with you, Oghren?"

" 'Tis useless. You know we won't find anything there. We should–"

"Yes, I already heard your opinion, Morri," Airam cut in. "I asked Oghren now."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes angrily, but she didn't say anything.

"Yeah," grumbled Oghren after a short, but very tense, moment. "I'm fine with that." He took a long swig from the flask, and turned back to the journal.

And so did Airam and everyone else; once again, Zevran was left to his own devices. No. That had to end, now.

"Tell me, my dear friend, do you perhaps have one more book with you? Watching you all read makes me want to read something, too," he asked after a while, when Airam was fully absorbed in his book again.

"Of course," said Airam, absent-mindedly. "There are few more in my extra robes, choose whichever–wait. _You_ want to read a book?" Airam looked up, finally aware of the trick.

Zevran quickly moved to Shale's backpack and took out Airam's robes. There were four more books packed in it. "Aha! There they are! You little cheater!"

"Am not! It was carried by Shale, as you have noticed–oh damn." Airam looked up at the golem with a guilty smile. "But, our big friend doesn't mind! Do you? I mean, you didn't even feel it!"

To say that Shale was angry would be the biggest understatement of the week. "So, first It uses me as a pack mule and then It adds that I'm fat? It is very brave for such a squishy thing!"

"What? When did I said you're fat? I would _never_ say something that horrible, especially as it's not true at all! You're a charming, lady! Isn't she, Zevran? With the most marvellous bosom?" he turned to Zevran, with a desperate look on his face.

Zevran folded his arms. "But the part about the pack mule is true?"

"Of course not! It's just as I said–Shale is strong–not fat! _Strong_! Unlike us squishy things, right? So when she kindly agreed to carry some of our things, so we could pack extra food, I thought, what are four–"

"Five," corrected Sten, earning a dirty look from Airam.

"Yes, yes," he continued turning to Shale again. "What are a few tiny books to that? Someone so amazing wouldn't even feel it. And I was right! You are so awesome, my dear friend!"

"It should have asked."

"Yeeeeesss... you're right."

"I would refuse."

"Well, that's why I didn't..."

"So It will not be surprised when I refuse now, yes? It can carry Its own books by Itself."

"But Shaaaaleee...! You can't do that now!"

"I can."

Airam looked desperate. He looked at Sten, but before he could ask, Sten shook his head. "No."

That answer was the last drop for the crazy kid. "There _are_ other words in the Fereldan language, you know," he said coldly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you for anything." He took his robes and books and stuffed them unceremoniously in his own backpack. Then, he turned to Zevran with a sly grin.

"All right, you won this one, silly assassin. But just wait. I will have my revenge, when you least expect it."

"Such threats! It will give me nightmares!"

The crazy kid shot him one last dirty look; for the rest of the evening didn't say a single word. _Brasca_. He should have taken one of the books, first.

oOo

The Dead Trenches were not far, Oghren assured them. They should reach it in four or five days. Zevran counted them down hour by hour, so eager he was to be on the way back from Deep Roads. They'd come to the Dead Trenches, find it abandoned and turn back, yes? Or so he thought. When, on the fourth day, Morrigan came back from her scouting to say that she had found a big camp of dwarves, he was almost disappointed. It was probably Branka and her people. And that meant they would have to stay there for a few more days. _Brasca_! What was the damned woman doing, staying in one place for two years?

But it wasn't Branka.

As they got closer, they saw that the tunnel was blocked by several guards. They were all wearing the same armour, with the same strange symbol.

"Legionnaires," grumbled Oghren softly.

"You are from Legion of Dead?" asked Airam one of the guards, when they reached them. "The soldiers who deliberately chose to give up their life for fighting darkspawn?"

The dwarves looked at each other, confused. "Yes. And you are?"

"I am honoured to meet you." said Airam, and bowed. "Allow me to introduce myself; Commander of Grey in Ferelden, Airam Surana."

"The Commander? So Duncan is dead?" asked one of the dwarves. "I am sorry to hear that. We hoped to see him soon, and fight at his side one last time. Please, Warden, come and join us for today, and tell us what happened to Duncan."

The dwarves took them into the main camp, where they were a real attraction. Some dwarves knew Duncan and few of the other men, but for many it was the first time they had ever seen a surfacer. They prepared a dinner–a feast, truly, under these conditions–and during the meal they had to answer many questions about 'funny surface matters' like trees and plants, but most of all, about the dangers of the sky. Oghren apparently shared the tale about Zevran's tattoos; whatever Zevran said about it now, it wouldn't be enough to convince the dwarves that the sky is in fact perfectly harmless.

When the dinner was over, and the curiosity of dwarves more or less sated, their leader, Kardol, took them aside to discuss more serious matters. He listened to Airam's briefing about Ostagar and their mission, and how the Assembly had sent them to find Branka. Zevran winced few times at the crazy kid's cheeky comments about deshyrs, but it seemed Kardol didn't mind.

"I see," he muttered when Airam finished. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but you are too late. It is true that Branka was here, for more than a year. They reclaimed the thaig, and drove out the darkspawn. We had a deal with them–we provided them with food and water in exchange for weapons and armour. She had a few very nice smiths with her. They were still here when we last passed this way, some six months ago. But when we came now, Bownammar was overrun with darkspawn and there are no traces of Branka. We do not know what happened, but we fear the worst."

"Did you enter the thaig?"

"No. I arrived with twenty men; we're on our way to get supplies. It's not enough to reclaim the thaig."

Airam's face cleared. "Well, then, we can't tell for sure that Branka is dead," he said. "Perhaps she moved on long before the darkspawn came."

"True, but to find out you would have to enter the thaig. That would be suicide. There is a big group guarding the gates, at least fifty of them, and in the thaig there would be several times more."

"Only fifty?" asked Airam. "In that case, I say we have a chance! Twenty of your men plus the six of us-"

Rask growled.

"I'm sorry, did I say six? I meant seven, no, eight!" Airam chuckled and scratched the mabari behind ears. "We can do it! Fifty, you say? Bah! We've defeated hundred of spiders that were much more nasty than darkspawn on our way here. And if you and your men join us, they won't stand a chance!"

"You're a brave one," said Kardol. "I would like nothing more than to join you, for Bownammar used to be a home of the Legion once. Unfortunately, I can't allow any organized attacks without the approval of the Assembly. To retake the thaig, that would be considered an organized attack. If I did it by my own decision, we would lose our support in the Assembly. And we need their support, if we want money for food and weapons. I am sorry. I can't fight with you."

There was a moment of silence, as Airam was thinking about that answer. "Well, what do we do now?"

"I am going," said Oghren. "Even alone."

"You won't be alone," promised Airam. "I will be there for sure, too. What about the rest of you? Do you want to turn and go back now, so close to our goal? Sten?"

"_No_."

Airam's lips twitched, but he didn't comment it. "Shale?"

"I'm not afraid of few squishy darkspawn."

"Zev?"

"If you go, I go, naturally."

"Oooh how clever of you, to leave me to the end," said Morrigan. "I still say this is a useless waste of our time. What if I refuse to go, hm? You won't get far without a healer."

"So you admit it was a useful thing to learn?" asked Airam, as if he didn't hear her threat.

" 'Tis useful for _you_," she pointed out. "I would not need it, were I alone, as I would never do such a foolish thing. But I guess I have no other chance now than to go with you. I do not wish your blood on my hands."

"All right, then." Airam turned to Kardol. "We will leave tomorrow. Could we please camp with your people tonight?"

"Of course. We can't fight with you, but we will help as much as we can. Feel free to take as much food as you want from our supplies. We have enough, and in three days we will be in Orzammar, anyway, so we can buy more–"

"I'm sorry. Did you say in three days?" Airam cut in. "How? It took us three weeks to get here."

"We know our way here better than anyone. Show me your maps." He studied them for a while, but then shook his head. "I thought I would fix few things... but these are no good. These must be at least ten years old. Jarmil, please give the Warden Commander a set of maps... No, that is not necessary," he said with a smile, when Airam started to thank him. "We Legionares always cooperate with Wardens, and often provide them with maps, so we always have few extra copies."

"It is still a great help. I wish there was something we could do in return."

"Succeed and kill all of the darkspawn in Bownammar. That will be enough."

"You may count on that."

Kardol smiled. "And one more thing. While I, and few others that have been in the Legion long enough, feel your pain where our cousins in the Assembly are related, you better not say that aloud in front of everyone. They might be the black sheep of their families, but they are also very loyal; enough to come here to clean the name of the family, damaged by their actions."

"They are _deshyrs_?" asked Airam incredulously, looking over his shoulder to the Legionares. "These tough guys? You know, this might be the greatest wonder of the Deep Roads."

Zevran sighed inwardly–this, right after the warning–but Kardol laughed. "You know, it might be true, after all."

oOo

When dwarves heard these weird surfacers wanted to win back Bownammar, they went out of their way to help them. Smiths repaired their armours and weapons, as much as it could be done in such short time; especially Sten's armour, which was in a terrible shape. They also gave them enough supplies to last for another few weeks. Zevran wasn't sure if he was happy about that. With what they had before, they would have had to turn back to Orzammar soon; now there was no telling what crazy idea could Airam have.

The dwarves offered a large supply of ale; they even prepared a little barrel that could be tied around Rask's neck. When Airam refused, explaining that he could provide water at anytime, they stared at him with shocked pity. "Nobody right in their head would drink _water_! Water is for washing dirt. Drinking it will hurt your stomach and give you cramps," they lectured him. "For drinking, you need ale or brandy. Or both."

"Not _my_ water," said Airam, mildly offended. "But that thing for Rask is a great idea. Except I'd prefer a leather bag. So he can carry… potions, for example, without breaking the flaks."

The dwarves shook their heads at his craziness–and Zevran saw them smuggle some ale to Oghren–but they did as Airam asked.

"For _potions_, you say," he said later, while Airam was tying the new bag around Rask's neck.

"But of course. What else could he carry?"

"_Indeed_."

"Don't you have something more useful to do, instead of looming over me like a misshaped statue of a paragon? Like, go and scout how many soldiers are guarding the gate, so we can prepare a strategy."

That was in fact why he came to Airam; he was pleasantly surprised by this sudden interest in strategy. Not so long ago, he would have just barged forward; if he finally decided to be more careful, it was a most welcomed change. Perhaps all his hard work with the crazy kid was at last bringing some results.

oOo

There was a large group, just as Kardol said; but they were mostly genlocks. The biggest trouble would be emissaries and the two ogres; but it was nothing they couldn't manage, with a good strategy. The best would be to draw most of them onto the bridge between Bownammar and the camp; there their number wouldn't be that big of an advantage. The bridge was old, crumbling on several places; with a few carefully placed traps, they would reduce the darkspawn number before the battle even began. That part was done already, Zevran informed the others.

Airam was quite satisfied with that. "All right, then. My turn now. You wait here; I'll be right back."

Did he think Airam was more careful? Well, he was wrong. Airam insisted on sneaking to the bridge and place some glyphs and curses. All Zevran could do was pace anxiously on their side; when the crazy kid returned safe and sound, he sighed with relief.

Airam noticed it. "Don't you think it's about time you started to trust my abilities? Despite what you might think, I'm not totally incompetent."

"Ah, but I do trust your abilities. How could I not, when I'm your trainer? But even the most skill ed can die if they are not careful. And what would–" _I do without you_, he almost said, but caught himself in the last moment "–Alistair do without you, hm?"

"Yes, yes." Airam rolled his eyes. "Everyone ready? Let's go kill some darkspawn, then."

Their plan worked. Provoked by a few spells and Shale's missiles, the darkspawn rushed forward to the bridge, only to be caught into his traps and Airam glyphs.

"See what happens to those that are not careful?" He pointed to the genlock shrieking in pain as it tried to free its leg from a trap.

"I'm not _that_ dumb," snapped Airam. "And shut up now. They're coming."

The battle was long and fierce; but it would have been much longer and fiercer, if Kardol's archers hadn't joined in. Kardol himself fought at Airam's side too. "I'm only defending the bridge," he explained.

The dwarves didn't go with them to the gates, but that was fine–most of the darkspawn were defeated, orcs beheaded, emissaries frozen and shattered. The remaining few were small fish, and didn't make much trouble.

"We did it!" shouted Airam after it was over, waving to the dwarves at the bridge. "See you in Orzammar, guys!"

"We didn't make it yet," Morrigan pointed out. "We are still in front of the gates."

"Then let's go in," said Airam brightly, as if she had suggested a nice morning walk.

oOo

Honestly, Zevran was almost disappointed. There were a few darkspawn, yes, but much less than they expected. More or less the same as in the other parts of the Deep Roads. And there were no traces of Branka's people at all. Perhaps they really had moved forward, as Oghren hoped; but there were no hints in which direction they went. Well, he couldn't say it made him sad. He just hoped Branka hadn't left another of her journals laying around. Without any hints, they would have to turn back; it would be ridiculous to wander the Deep Roads blindly.

Just as his hopes were becoming more realistic, Sten, who was carrying the Kardol's map, stopped them. "That passage is not on the map," he said, pointing to the right.

Which Airam immediately took as a sign they should go there.

Things became much more interesting then. The passage led to what seemed like a much older part of the thaig; in fact, it looked more like an ancient crypt than a town. This impression was strongly supported by walking skeletons. Still, nothing new. They had fought such creatures back in the ruins in the Brecilian forest. Once you overcame the initial shock and disgust, they were rather easy to kill. There was nothing to be afraid-

"_First day they come and catch everyone_."

All right, perhaps he was too optimistic. That was scary. They looked around, but didn't see anyone.

"_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat_."

This time it was possible to say it was coming from the narrow corridor to the right. Zevran didn't think it was such a clever idea to go in there; but there was no doubt it was a voice of a woman–probably one of Branka's people.

"_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again_."

"Do you think... she's telling what happened to the others?" asked Airam, green in face. "Caught... gnawed... eaten..."

"It would explain why there are no corpses," said Morrigan.

There was a moment of uneasy silence as they all thought about it. Then Shale turned to Airam. "Does It think those skeletons we fought were leftovers?"

"_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate_," said the voice, before Airam could reply. It seemed it wanted them to follow, and so they did. It was always little ahead of them; each line was more and more gruesome.

"_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn."_

"_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams."_

"_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew."_

"_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated."_

None of them asked, or commented it; they all understood and didn't want to think about it at all. They now came to a real crypt; huge stone sarcophagi were neatly lined in the alcoves in walls. Morrigan and Sten opened a few, to see if there was something valuable. Every time they lifted a lid, a terrible stench would flow out. Zevran would normally join them, but not now. Some things were better left untouched, yes? Airam didn't like it, either; he was greener and greener every minute.

"_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin_."

Airam cursed and quickly walked away; they heard him being sick. "Enough you two," he said weakly when he returned. "If you open one more I swear I'll stuff you inside and freeze the lid."

One look at his face made it clear he meant it, too, and so they could finally move on.

"_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

_First day the come and catch everyone.._."

"Ah, have we already reached the end of this merry chant? How disappointing," Zevran murmured, but nobody paid the attention.

They finally found the chanter.

oOo

The dwarven woman was kneeling in the middle of the room, cutting meat from the heap of... something. Zevran decided he didn't want to know what it was. When they entered, she turned to them, but he wasn't sure she really saw them. She... wasn't well, to put it very mildly. She made Ruck look healthy and sane. Her face and hands were covered in dark patches; she looked more darkspawn than a dwarf.

As they got closer, Oghren stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. "_Hespith_?"

She turned to him and blinked, as if she was trying to remember. "Oghren... here? No... I must be deceiving myself again..."

"She is... was, Branka's captain," said Oghren. "What happened here, Hespith? Where is my wife?"

"Do _not_ speak of Branka!" she growled. "She cannot be forgiven. Not after what she became."

"I am sorry we're bothering you," said Airam soothingly. "But we need to know what happened here. _Please_? What happened to Branka? Is she the girl from your chant? The one that... became violated?"

"No. Not Branka. She betrayed us. But no... I was her captain, and I didn't stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. It is as much mine fault as it it hers."

"I do not understand," said Sten. Airam frowned at him.

"What don't you understand?"

"I thought Branka was a woman."

"She _is_ a woman, you overgrown nughumper," said Oghren angrily.

"Then how could they be lovers?"

Airam sighed and rubbed his brow. "Why me?" Zevran heard him mutter under his breath. "Not _now_, Sten," he said aloud. "Later I'll ask Zevran to explain it to you, all right? Please, my dear lady, do not mind my friend and continue."

After a lot more patient questions, indirect answers, ominous implications and stupid interruptions from others, they finally got a more or less clear picture what happened. According to Hespith, Branka's people regretted coming into the Deep Roads very soon; they wanted to go back home. If Branka hadn't been a Paragon, they would have turned their backs to her and left her alone with her obsession. When they came to Bownammar, it had seemed like a blessing of the Ancestors. A new home; a place where they could bring glory to Branka's name and house. Branka did not care for such glory. All she cared for was the Anvil.

"She became obsessed," said Hespith. "There was nothing else in her, only the Anvil."

But for long months, she couldn't find any new clue about which way they should go, so the others didn't care. Until one day, she found a hidden door–the same Sten noticed–and behind it, an ancient crypt. Certain that she had finally found the Anvil, she had ordered everyone to move on. There were some minor riots, but in the end, they had agreed. After all, it had seemed so near, within reach; if they found it, they would all earn eternal glory for their families. They fought their way through the crypts and found the way to the gauntlet before the Anvil. Many of them had died trying to remove the deadly traps and unlock its secrets, but for a while it seemed they would be successful. In the end, though, it had all been in vain, as they found an enemy they could not defeat. From Hespith's description, it had seemed there was some ancient magical monster that killed anyone who tried to pass. Branka ordered her warriors to kill it but they couldn't, and none of dwarven healers were able to cure injuries caused by the monster. When several warriors died, they finally rebelled. They refused to follow Branka and decided to return to the thaig.

Then the darkspawn came.

No matter how they tried, they couldn't get Hespith to explain what Branka had to do with it; she kept repeating that Branka had betrayed them. It seemed Branka somehow closed the tunnels that led from the crypts to the Anvil, and trapped everyone in the thaig. With most of the warriors dead, they were easy prey. The rest of it was just like the chant said. The men were eaten. But the women they wanted alive. To touch and mold, until they were filled with darkspawn, Hespith said; it sent cold shivers down Zevran's spine. Airam looked as if he might be sick again.

All the time, they carefully avoided looking at Oghren, who was listening to it all without single word. When Hespith finished her tale, he turned to Airam. "Warden. If you do not wish to continue, I will understand. If you wish, take the journal and go. But I have to go on. Whatever she did, she's still my Branka."

Airam nodded. "I understand. We will go with you."

Zevran wasn't so sure this was such a great idea, especially when Hespith said that to get to Branka, they would have to pass by the Broodmother. But he didn't want to cause any more troubles to Airam, and so he didn't protest.

Had he known what waited for them, he would have protested. Vehemently.

The Broodmother was... basically a giant, smelly darkspawn octopus. With no less than five pairs of breasts. And tiny arms–only one pair, thanks the Maker. And a huge mouth full of big, sharp teeth. Zevran wondered if he would ever be able to look at a woman's naked breasts without an urge to retch.

"See, Shale? Now _that_ is fat," peeped Airam distractedly after a moment of shocked silence.

Octopus or not, it was still a female and apparently did not like to be called fat. It roared, and attacked them by its tentacles–and by spit. Ugh. The fight that followed was just as bad, if not worse, as the battle with the New Andraste, back in the mountains. It was difficult to predict from which side the tentacles would attack, and almost impossible to get near its huge body. The spells didn't have much of an effect on it, probably because of the huge amount of fat on that body, so Airam and Morrigan focused on healing and regeneration. Good. At least he didn't have to worry about Airam being eaten, this time.

Cutting the tentacles one by one was all they could do. Then he suddenly realized–the enormous fat could be an advantage, as well. He covered himself in shadows and, carefully avoiding the twirling tentacles, ran behind the monster. The stench of its body almost knocked him off his feet. As he expected, the huge stacks of fat made it easy to climb its body; just as it didn't feel the lightning bolt, it didn't feel him climbing up, either. In a few swift moves, he was on its nape. He coated his daggers with the Crow poison and dug them in its neck to the hilt.

It tried to roar in pain; a stream of blood spurted from its neck. Thrashing to all sides, it tried to throw him off. He tightened his grip on his daggers; a fall from here, right under its fat body would be fatal. It didn't take long before the poison started to work. The monster swayed, and came crashing down. Zevran held his daggers until the last moment, then pulled them out and jumped off. The resulting flip was quite impressive, and earned him awed gasps from Airam. It made the the fight almost worth it.

They were all exhausted, but none of them wanted to stay around longer than necessary; even Sten and Morrigan didn't seem inclined to loot her body. They quickly moved forward, hoping to find a place where they could have some rest and clean themselves; being covered in the spit of that thing was not only unpleasant, but possibly toxic.

Zevran didn't notice anything unusual–it looked like yet another tunnel leading to yet another cave, there was no hint that there was a door or a mechanism–until it closed behind them, cutting off the way back. Ah. So this was what Hespith meant, when she said that Branka closed the way, yes? In that case the woman herself should be somewhere near.

"And who might you be? Another errand boy sent by the king?"

They turned to the cold, harsh voice and saw a dwarven woman walking towards them. Once, she might had been pretty, with a marvelous bosom. But after months alone in the Deep Roads, she wasn't much better from Ruck–skin sullen, hair matted, and too many teeth rotten.

"Shave my back and call me an elf!" yelled Oghren. "Branka? By the Stone, I almost didn't recognize you!"

"Oghren." There was no hint of emotion in her voice, as if he was a complete stranger. "So you found your way here after all, did you? Well, I hope finding the way back will be easier."

There was a ringing silence after that comment. Zevran was feeling sorry for the dwarven warrior; he drunk too much of that stinky ale, yes, but he was not a bad man. How many men would follow their unfaithful wife into such a horrid place, fight against all kind of foul things, just to see her again? Not many. Only the most foolish... or the most devoted.

"And you are the king's hired sword, I assume," she turned to Sten.

"No," he said, frowning. "The king is dead. I work for the Warden."

That confused her; she glanced toward the door, apparently wondering if she didn't cut off someone in the corridor.

Airam huffed in annoyance. "He means _me_. I am the Warden Commander, Airam Surana."

"Oh. But nevertheless, you work for the fools in the Assembly. Let me guess–the new king needs the Paragon's blessing? Well, too bad. I'm not going back."

"Branka," pleaded Oghren, but she just laughed.

"You're wrong," Airam said. "Nobody wants you to come back. Nobody cares–except for Oghren, and I hope he'll get over it soon, too. There are two candidates, Bhelen and Harrowmont. The Assembly kindly asks you to give your recommendation on who you would prefer to be the king. Then you can return to your chase of the Anvil; hopefully there will be another Paragon before the new king dies so your services won't be needed again."

Zevran couldn't suppress the chuckle, and he heard Morrigan snickering behind his back, too. Well, it was safe to say that their fearless leader didn't like Branka. At all.

"Tell them I do not care if they put a drunken monkey on the throne! We had forty generations of kings, and we lost everything. But that will change, when I finally find the Anvil. I will recreate the army of golems, and raise Orzammar to glory again!"

"Impressive," snapped Airam. "I mean, that you know what a monkey is. But the rest of it is a pile of crap, bigger than the broodmother. Even if you find the Anvil, what will you do? You're alone. Your people are dead. Hespith is will be dead soon. The Legion will not come without the king's approval, and the king–or drunk monkey–could care less about you. Where will you get food? Materials? Tools? Workers? Money to get it all?"

What he said made great sense, and Zevran was quite impressed; but it seemed it didn't penetrated into Branka's brain.

"That doesn't matter! I don't need anyone. I can do it all myself. Traitors! I'm better off without them. They pledged their loyalty to me, they promised to help me find the Anvil. They had no right to turn on me just because a few of them died! I needed them to test Caridin's traps. There was no other way, only by trial and error. It was inevitable, that some of them would die. But they refused to help. Even my Hespith... I thought she, at least, would understand that when you reach for greatness, there are sacrifices."

"You are insane."

"Maybe; but you're trapped here with me now. If you want to leave, you must open the way to the Anvil first."

Oghren shook his head. "Branka, what had this place done to you? Where's the girl I married, with the brilliant mind and kind heart?"

"Where is the man I married? The warrior, not a sad, pathetic drunkard? But enough of this. I am you Paragon. You will do what I say. Or die here. It is entirely up to you."

With that, she turned and walked away. Sten and Shale went to check the door behind them, but even they could not bulge it. And the magic wouldn't help here–too big of a risk for cave-ins. There had to be some kind of mechanism that opened the door, but even after an hour of searching, they didn't find anything. It seemed they would have to do as Branka said.

They camped in the hall, unwilling to fight another monster on empty stomachs. Unwilling to talk about Branka in front of Oghren, they talked about the magical monster, Hespith mentioned; where could Caridin get something like that, anyway? It had to be quite powerful magic, if it was still working, after all these centuries.

Whatever it was, Zevran hoped it had only one magical bosom.


	21. The Edge of Abyss

Yay! The last Deep Road chapter! It is the main reason why this chapter is so long - I wanted them out of that place. And in the next chapter, they'll be out of Orzammar. Today I'm leaving on a two week holiday, and there's no internet connection, so I probably won't be able to reply to your reviews until I'm back.

Big hug to Seika, for her super fast beta reading so I could post it. Thank you so much, hun! :)

* * *

**The Edge of Abyss**

They found the magical monster Hespith mentioned an hour of walk from their camp. Only it wasn't a magical monster at all. It was a huge stone statue with five faces, surrounded by small stone anvils, placed in front of the only tunnel leading out of this cave. Zevran would have felt relieved, but he was sure there had to be a catch. The dwarves were brave and strong warriors; if this thing had defeated them, they better not underestimated it.

"Right," said Airam, rubbing his nose. "Let's see how this work. Shale, you're the least squishy of us, so we'll try it on you, all right? Go to that thing, but don't touch anything."

Shale did as ordered; a few dwarven spirits appeared around the statue, but they did not attack her.

"They're not attacking?" Airam frowned. "Of course," he said after a moment of thinking. "They're guarding the way! Sten, please, try to go around it into the tunnel. Shale, if the spirits try to go after him, stop them."

Sten didn't make two steps, when the statue came to life. With screeching sound, the eyes on the statues' faces lit up with a red glow, and one of the small anvils pulsed with magic. The air tingled with magical energy, and the next moment Sten was hurled aside, as if he was just a toy. With an enraged cry, Shale turned and slammed her fist into the stone face; but despite putting her all force into the blow, there wasn't even a scratch. Before she could try again, the dwarven spirits swooped on her. She destroyed one with a heavy blow to its head–and two more appeared. In the meantime, the ugly statue kept sending bolts of energy in Sten's direction.

"Retreat!" yelled Airam. "Shale, come back! Now! You too, Sten! No arguing!"

Thank the Maker, the dwarven spirits didn't pursue them; Airam still insisted going further until the statue and spirits couldn't see them.

"Is running away our new custom now?" asked Sten acerbically, as Morrigan started healing him.

"What else could we do?"

"We could fight."

"And die. Right. Look, I'm fed up of this game. You want to die there? Go ahead. I won't stop you."

"We must fight together–"

"No chance. I won't let you risk the lives of my friends for your foolish idea of warrior's honour. If you want to fight, you fight alone. If you want to stay, you're following my commands. It's as simple as that."

There was a moment of tense silence as Sten and Airam stared at each other. Zevran cursed inwardly. Did the big oaf want to challenge their leader again? Well, forget it. It would be a pity, lately Sten had become much more bearable and it would be a blow to lose such skilled fighter, especially in this ass of the place–but he wouldn't hesitate to slit the oaf's throat. He coated his daggers with a strong poison before they broke camp; if it came to a fight, it would be over quickly.

But it seemed he didn't have to worry.

"You've matured," muttered Sten with a slight nod.

"Thank you," said Airam, but he didn't smile at all. "Now, let's get to the more important matter. No wonder the dwarves didn't stand any chance. Dwarves might be immune to magic... though I can't confirm it. My magic worked just fine on those few I had to fight. But that thing, it causes spiritual damage. Immunity against normal magic is useless here, and dwarven poultices won't help."

"So it is hopeless?" asked Shale. "After all we went through, we will be defeated by that stone thing?"

"There must some way. It would be foolish to create such a guardian without the way to deactivate it," said Morrigan.

"Then you can cast some protective spell on us, yes?" asked Shale.

"There are no spells that would protect you completely against spirits and with so many of us to protect, it would be even weaker. Both me and Morri would be completely drained, and if you needed help or healing..."

Zevran agreed. It would be too risky. There had to be another way... "What about those small stone anvils?" he suggested.

"What about them?"

"Well, that glow had to mean something, yes?"

Airam looked at him, surprised. "What glow?"

"You didn't notice? The moment the statue's eyes started to glow, one of those anvils started to glow and pulse with power, too."

"It started to–hm... could it be? It's possible... but we can only be sure if we try... but how... who..." Airam stood up. "Come on, everyone! I think I have solution!"

Bewildered, they followed him back to the statue. The spirits were gone, and it looked like an ugly but innocent statue once again. There Airam explained the plan. It sounded crazy, but as nobody had any better idea, they agreed to do it.

"You have to do exactly what I tell you and only what I tell you. No matter what happens. Or we'll all be crushed. Do you understand?" he asked, looking directly at Sten.

"Yes," Sten replied.

It was simple, crazy, and dangerous. But it worked. Rask was sent into the tunnel, and the moment the statue came alive, Airam cast a force shield on him–both protecting him and keeping him at one place. Then Zevran, Shale, Sten and Oghren attacked the glowing anvil. They were attacked by the dwarven spirits, but they ignored it, protected and healed by Morrigan and Airam's magic. It was extremely difficult, as all of his instincts were telling him to fight back, to defend himself. But that would only create more enemies, so he forced his will to focus on his task. The others had the same problem and, more than once, he and Sten had to stop the other two from ruining the plan.

By the time all five of the anvils were destroyed and the statue was silent again, he felt worse than after the Crow endurance tests. Not so sore, of course, thanks to the constant healing, but just as drained and exhausted. He staggered back to his backpack and sagged down; a cup was pressed into his hand, and he drank it without question–and only then realized it was Oghren's hard liquor. Based on the horrid taste, he was almost sure it was the infamous Dragon Piss. Coughing, he grabbed his waterskin and drank almost all its content, to the great amusement of everyone else. But he had to admit, it worked marvellously.

"Good, eh? Normally I would not waste it on you, elf, but you deserved it today."

Zevran got up and hugged the dwarf, patting one of his braided moustaches seductively. "My dear dwarf!" he purred. "I am honoured. But the next time you want to bed me, it is enough to ask, yes? You do not have to bribe me like that."

Oghren pushed him away so hard he landed on his butt, but he didn't mind; the dwarf's embarrassment was too amusing. "Keep your pants where I can see them!" he yelled, his face as red as his hair, so it looked as if his whole head was on fire. "Damned knife-ear! That's what I get for my kindness... To think I spent my best liquor on him..."

"What would you do if it turned out he _was_ interested?" Airam teased him, when Oghren stormed away from them.

He tilted his head and grinned at the boy. "Now I'm not sure if you're trying to give me nightmares… or if you are jealous."

Airam laughed. "Of course I'm jealous. Of Oghren's moustaches," he said. "All right, then. If you're fine, I suggest to get going. The sooner we find this Anvil, the sooner we can get out of this horrid place."

He didn't seem embarrassed and he didn't blush at all. How disappointing.

oOo

They expected more traps in the tunnel, but it seemed that whoever built the ugly statue thought it was unbeatable–apparently they hadn't expected that a little elven bookworm would be able to solve the puzzle so easily. So there shouldn't be any reason for Zevran's uneasiness, but he was sure they were being followed. Maybe it was Branka, but why, then, did the crazy woman not come out and join them?

The tunnel was only a few miles long, opening into the biggest, most magnificent cave Zevran had ever seen, full of carved stone pillars and huge stone tablets on the walls, covered with some writing; at quick glance it seemed like a list of names, so even Airam lost interest in it pretty soon. Much more impressive were the golems, at least twenty of them, standing in two lines in the middle of the cave, forming a sort of corridor to a flight of stars with a platform on the top. Zevran guessed that was where the Anvil was, though it could not be seen from below. The golems were bigger and broader than Shale, making her look like their little sister.

"I used to be like that, before Wilhelm decided I needed to be slimmer," she grumbled.

"Stupid brute," said Airam cajolingly. "But you're still the most charming golem ever. That one, for example," he pointed with his head to the biggest one at the end of the line, "is quite fat. Don't you think it's fat, Zev?"

Before Zevran could answer, the said golem started to produce strange sounds. It took him a moment to realize that it was _laughing_.

"I have been called many things, but never fat," it thundered in a deep voice.

"I apologize; I didn't mean to be rude," peeped Airam.

"Do not worry, little one. It feels like centuries since I had a laugh… in fact, it probably is centuries. What year it is now?"

"Nine thirty," said Airam sympathetically.

"That can't be. It was nine forty when I created the Anvil."

They stared at each other, equally nonplussed. Then Airam's face cleared. "Oh! You mean _Imperial calendar_! Um, no… by that count it's already… wait… twenty one twenty five. The new calendar was introduced, you know, after the death of the Holy Prophet Andraste and the forming of the Chantry–"

"That does not matter now," Shale cut in. "How is it awake without using the control rod?"

"Ah, a voice I know. Shale, my dear! I am so happy to see you again."

Now that was unexpected; for Shale just as much as for the rest of them, judging by her expression. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"Do you not recognize me, Shale?" the big golem sounded disappointed and sad. "I am Caridin."

"Caridin, as in Caridin' Cross? The one who made that ancient, all-powerful Anvil?" asked Airam, all fear forgotten.

"I don't know about Caridin's Cross, but I am indeed the smith who created the Anvil of the Void. Unfortunately."

"Airam Surana, the Warden Commander. These are my companions, Zevran, Morrigan, Oghren, the big guy is Sten and you already know Shale, it seems."

"A pleasure to meet you. But if you are here for the Anvil, then I have to disappoint you. I cannot allow anyone to use it."

"And why not? Is the Anvil broken?" inquired Shale. "There is another Blight going on. It is needed once again."

Caridin shook his head. "You would not say that if you remembered what happened. You were once fighting at my side, trying to stop the fools who didn't see the truth. The Anvil is evil." He turned to Airam. "You must not use it and start it again!"

"We will not, then." Airam shrugged. "But could you please elaborate? Why is the Anvil evil? What are you talking about?"

"Back when I created the Anvil, we were in a desperate situation. The tainted creatures were overwhelming us; our empire was falling apart. I was a smith, a good smith, known for my weapons and armours. I established my own house and a town. Bownammar, I called it."

"You founded Bownammar? Wow! I thought it was founded by Legionnaires–all right, all right, I'll shut up now. No need to frown at me like that, Sten. Please continue."

"But no matter how strong my armours were, it was not enough to save our people. And so I decided to make the ultimate armour; one that would be indestructible and guarantee our victory. It took me long years, but finally I created the Anvil, and, with the Anvil, I created the golem's armour, made of stone and steel."

"An armour?" Airam looked at Shale, confused. "So… I can open it, and there will be a dwarf inside?"

"Ridiculous," Shale snapped, "you would only find a dwarf inside me, if I'd eaten one for dinner."

Caridin smiled. "No, there is no opening and no dwarf inside. But Shale was a real dwarf, once."

"I… was a dwarf?"

"Yes, Shale. You were one of the best warriors of the house Cadash, and volunteered to be merged with the golem armour in order to defend your thaig. It is not possible to create a living thing, you see. For each golem that was created, a dwarf had to die. They put on the golem armour, and then it was filled in with the strongest, purest red lyrium, and forged on the Anvil of the Void. It merged the soul of a dwarf with the armour, and they became new, stronger, invincible soldiers."

There was a moment of uneasy silence. Airam spun and looked at the stone tablets on the walls. "So those names are…"

"Yes. They are the names of dwarves who became golems."

Zevran felt chills run down his spine. There had to be at least a thousand names. Wynne had said lyrium was dangerous and caused psychosis and a lot of other problems. "Why would anyone volunteer to that?" he asked aloud.

"It was the only way to defeat the tainted creatures. But not all of the dwarves whose names are on these tablets volunteered. King Valtor demanded more and more golems, many more than we had volunteers. So he decided to use other sources. At first he only brought casteless –"

"What?!" Airam clenched his fists in fury.

Morrigan pouted. "I don't understand why are you so angry. I say 'twas a wise decision. If the darkspawn had defeated the dwarves, the casteless would die as well."

"I agree." Sten folded his arms. "I suggest doing the same."

"_No_," snapped Airam in a very Sten-like tone. "Let Caridin finish."

"Thank you, Warden. The King didn't bring just casteless, but also prisoners, political opponents, or anyone he did not like. These people were not warriors, and did not want to become golems. In order to ensure their obedience, one of my apprentices, Hirol, created the enchanted rods that controlled them. They became puppets, without any free will, mere toys in the hands of their owners. I wouldn't agree with it, and so I was betrayed. One night I was invited to the King's Palace for a dinner–I was a Paragon, it was nothing unusual…. And when I woke up, I was in this body. But their plan didn't work completely. None of the control rods worked on me. So I took a few golems and their rods, and brought them here. I used them to build traps and create the five-faced guardian stone, and sealed the door to the Anvil. Nobody has come in since then, until you. Now you see why I can't let you use the Anvil."

"Then why didn't you destroy it?" asked Shale.

"You think I didn't try? All those years, I was trying to find a way to destroy it. But I am one of its creations now. I can't cause it any harm."

"All those years… more than thousands years, you were closed here, alone, trying the impossible?" Airam looked around him. "How could you stand it? I'd throw myself into the lava pit ages ago."

"No. As long as the Anvil exists, so must I, to prevent it from happening ever again."

"We will destroy it for you, then."

"You should reconsider. It would help against the Blight," said Sten; and the argument started again.

Zevran was not sure what to do. Sten and Morrigan had a point; with hundreds of golems at their side, they could end the Blight tomorrow. But Caridin had a point, too. Sooner or later, someone would start the mass production of golems again; and besides, what would the dwarven kings do with all those golems after the Blight? Who could say they wouldn't turn against their former allies? And, finally, what Airam was saying to Sten was also true–it was not right sacrificing dwarves to save surface races, to stop the Blight on the surface, but to endanger the people living here.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of endless discussion, Airam had enough. "Enough! This argument stops here. I said we're going to destroy the Anvil. Are you going to help, or will you stand against me again?"

At that moment, a small figure jumped from behind one of the golems. _Brasca!_ He was getting soft; he should have notice her arrival.

"No! I will not allow you to destroy the Anvil! It is mine!" And before Zevran could do anything to stopped her, she drew–not a sword, but a controlling rod. "Kill them!" she yelled.

With horror, he watched as six of the big golems sprang to life and ran towards them, earth shaking under their feet. Well, at least it wasn't all of them, he thought as he readied his bombs. He wasn't completely unprepared; thanks to Shale he had pretty good idea of what worked on golems, but six at once? That was going to be difficult. Unless… perhaps they didn't have to fight all of them.

"Take that rod from Branka!" he shouted. "Airam, Morrigan, cover our backs!"

It was not so easy, of course. The golems were determined not to let them anywhere near Branka, and they were almost immune to most spells. The blizzard slow them down a bit, but they did not freeze. By the time they took down two golems, they were all exhausted and injured. This didn't look good at all. At this rate they would all–no. Focus.

"Noooo! Morrigan!"

A time seemed to stop as he turned and watched Morrigan fly across the room, hit by the rock missile, and crash into the wall. She slumped down, and remained there, silent and unmoving. One of them… died? Unexpected pain pierced his heart. He had seen so many of his Crow comrades and partners die, and it never meant anything for him. But this was different. Morrigan was not just a comrade–she was a friend.

And then the time exploded and everything happened at once. Shale was roaring in rage, lunging at Branka, and one of the golems launch another missile in his direction and Airam was screaming in fear, holding a dagger–

oOo

When he woke up, his head ached worse than ever. "I'm not dead?" he muttered in surprise and tried to sit up.

"No," came a short reply, and someone pushed him back down. "Don't move. The Warden said you must lie down."

That was a good idea, as even thinking hurt. "Sten? What happened?"

"We won."

Zevran moaned in despair. "I realized that, yes. But how? And what about Morrigan? Is she… "

"She is not dead. The Warden is with her. When you and she fell, the Warden cast a strong spell on Branka. Shale then crushed her head and took the rod. The other golems stopped attacking then."

"But how-"

"_Parshaara_. You have more questions than than a little _imekari_. You should rest. In silence."

Zevran chuckled–and regretted it immediately, as it sent fresh bolts of pain into his brain. Perhaps resting in silence wasn't such a bad idea after all.

oOo

When he woke up again, he felt much better. Sten was nowhere around, so he got up and looked around. Morrigan was laying on the bedroll next to him, unconscious and pale, her whole chest covered with poultices and bandages. The Qunari was studying the names on the tablets again. Oghren was piling stones between four pillars–probably making a tomb for his wife. And Airam was –

His heart skipped few beats. Airam was standing on the edge of the lava pit, leaning forward, as if he wanted to see how far he could lean before he fell in. Zevran almost cried out, but bit his tongue. It would be too dangerous. Cursing inwardly, he wrapped himself in shadows and sneaked behind the boy. He wrapped his hands around Airam's chest and pulled him away from the edge.

"What- Zevran!"

"What were you doing, _bello mio_? Do not scare me like that. What if you-"

"Jumped in?" Airam snapped, pulling away from him. "Not before the Blight is over, don't worry. What would Alistair and the Wardens do without me, right?"

"What are you saying?" Zevran grabbed Airam's shoulder and shook him. "Never say that again! Don't give up on your life! Once the Blight is over, it will be only the beginning, not the end."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you! Didn't you do just that? You think it makes difference that you didn't do it yourself but chose someone else to do it? Your blood would be on my hands, but the decision was still yours!"

What Airam said was true, but that didn't make it hurt less. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I had no other option. You do."

"And you know _nothing_ about me and my life, Zevran. What does it matter to you, anyway? After the Blight is over–or whenever you want, you know you're free to do whatever you wish–you can walk away and forget it as one chapter of life, a material for another anecdote about the crazy, immature Warden Commander. While my options would be the same wherever I'd go–to wait till the Taint kills me. So keep your lectures for someone who cares!"

They glared at each other for a moment, and then Airam stormed off to Morrigan.

oOo

That had to be the weirdest day of Zevran's life. He sat apart from the others, leaning on one of the pillar, with an indifferent smile on his lips, hands crossed behind his head and outstretched legs–as if he was enjoying a pleasant afternoon on the Antivan beach, not drowning in fear, confusion, disappointment and anger in one of the ugliest places in the world. No, in fact in _the_ ugliest place in the world. There couldn't be anything worse than this. He wanted nothing more than to tear down the pillars and the tablets and smash everything in pieces and then set it all on fire. But he would not let the others see his weakness. And it wasn't possible, anyway.

So many times in these past few months, he had said or done things he thought for sure would make Airam angry with him… and he never was. Now, for once, he had done a _good_ thing, tried to help, and Airam sent him away. That was what those words meant, no? '_You can go whenever you want_.' He didn't want to go. But if Airam wished so… never let it be said that Zevran stayed where he wasn't wanted. He had his pride, after all.

He saw Airam coming over with a bowl of food and closed his eyes, pretending he didn't care.

"I brought you dinner."

The tin bowl clanged on the rock. Zevran nodded, but didn't open his eyes or said anything. After a short, tense moment, he heard Airam sitting down next to him.

"Zev, I… may I talk to you?"

"If you want to tell me I should leave you don't have to bother. I'll leave tomorrow."

There was a sharp intake of breath. When Airam spoke, after a moment, his voice was broken, as if he was fighting tears.

"If–if that's what you want… then I won't stop you, Zev. B-but, I… look, I'm so sorry for those terrible things I said. Can you forgive me? I know I don't deserve it, I always hurt those I–those I care for, I bring them nothing but pain and death. I wish..."

Shocked, he finally looked at Airam; the boy was trembling, and his face was ashen and desperate. Before he could find words to reply–everything seemed so lame and inappropriate–Airam continued.

"Morrigan almost died because of me… she still might. I did all I can, but she's not better. If I listened to her, if I only did what she wanted, she'd be safe. And Branka would be alive. All I did was wrong, and then I took out my anger on you, and now you hate me, too." Airam hung his head

Zevran wanted to kick himself–he should have realised what was wrong. Of course this crazy kid would blame himself for everything bad that happened. And instead of helping, Zevran behaved like a petulant child and made it worse. But he had no idea what to do. Consolation was not among his strong points. When he told Airam about Rinna, the boy hugged him. Should he hug him, too? What if he became angry again?

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you," he said softly, shifting closer to Airam and carefully wrapping his arm around Airam's shoulder. The boy didn't pull away; he took that as a good sign.

Airam looked up at him, desperate and on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. _Please_, Zev. Don't be angry with me. I can't–I _need_ you. Please, don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said and he couldn't help smiling. A stone bigger than a golem dropped off his heart; he was almost surprised the whole cave didn't shake at the impact. "I thought you wanted me to leave–never mind that," he added with a wide grin, when he saw Airam's confused look. He shifted a bit closer, unwilling to let Airam go. _Clang!_ Something hot was trickling along his leg. _Brasca_, he completely forgot about the stupid bowl.

Airam gave him a strained, ultimately unconvincing smile and pulled away. "Sorry for falling apart like this. I'll bring you a new bowl of stew. It's not much, I'm just as bad cook as Alistair, but it should be edible. You stay here–that hit in the head was pretty bad. You should be resting, not dealing with an incompetent brat. I'll be right back."

As he reached for the bowl, the sleeve of his robes curled up a bit, revealing a nasty looking, fiery red cut. Zevran frowned. The boy caught his stare and hastily try to cover it. "It's just a scratch, don't worry," he said.

It wasn't a scratch–it was clearly a cut by a blade weapon. That itself was strange enough, as the golems didn't have swords and Airam was nowhere near Branka. But why didn't Airam heal it? It shouldn't be that difficult. "It's inflamed. You should take care of it, or it could cause problems."

Airam shrugged. "I can't. I'm completely drained. And when I'm not, I'll need it for Morrigan. And I've run out of lyrium potions during the battle. I'll make some tonight, but till then it will have to wait."

"Then use a poultice. Or a healing potion! Don't tell me we're out of those, too."

"We are, in fact. You were all in a terrible shape. Sten was like a torn rag when I got to him. Your injury seemed worst, but you have an incredibly thick skull." Airam smirked a little. "I have only a few left, and I'll need those for Morrigan. We'll be staying here for a few days, until she's able to walk, so I can make some later; hopefully the rest of you won't need it by then."

He sounded exhausted and his movements were sluggish, as if he moved by sheer will. Zevran cursed inwardly. He was so absorbed in his own feelings that he didn't notice it before. "You won't be of any use to Morrigan or anyone else if you collapse. Come, sit here and show me that injury. Even if you can't heal it now, you should clean it and bandage it, to avoid infection and scarring."

"Maybe it should leave a scar," mumbled Airam, but sat down obediently. "As a warning against idiocy." He glanced towards Morrigan. "I'll never forgive myself if she dies."

"If she dies, she dies. Such things happen," Zevran snapped sharply. Airam winced and looked at him with wide eyes. "You did all you could. There is no use blaming yourself, or working yourself until you fall from exhaustion. Morrigan is not stupid. She knew this would be dangerous and that she could die. All of us knew. We decided to come here of our own will."

"But she wouldn't have come if I hadn't convinced her."

"Don't overestimate your manipulation skills," he said, and chuckled when Airam blushed a little. "Especially with such a master in that area as Morrigan."

"Yes, but it was still my stupid decisions and mistakes that brought us here."

Zevran sighed. He was sure there was more to this stubborn determination to take all the blame, but this wasn't the best time to pry. Airam was on the edge anyway. Then he remembered the words Rinna's ghost or apparition or whatever it was told him, back in the Temple.

"Only someone with your ego would say that."

Airam blinked. "What?"

"It is our fault just as much as it is yours. Please, don't take our right to make our own mistakes."

This time the smile was more convincing, if still not a proper one. "I've never thought of it that way. You're right! I'm a super-awesome Warden Commander... not my fault that my companions make so many mistakes, right? All right, then. I'll be right back with some food-"

Airam tried to got up, but Zevran pushed him back down again."I'm fine, no need to worry about me. But you, my dear, look awful. Did _you_ eat anything? Or sleep? Thought so. You stay here, I'll bring your bedroll and food."

"I can't rest yet, Zev. What if Morri-"

"If there is any change, I'll wake you up, don't worry. You won't be of any use anyway, if you don't get some rest."

Airam gave him a weak smile; when he returned with the bandages, bedroll and food for both of them, the boy was already fast asleep.

oOo

The next day was much better. Morrigan was out of danger, though she still didn't wake up. When Airam announced it, everyone's mood improved immediately–Shale was still glaring at Oghren, who didn't move from Branka's grave and Sten was still as pleasant as sour milk, but the tension of the previous day was gone. And replaced by boredom. When Airam wasn't pouring healing magic into Morrigan–Zevran wouldn't be surprised if she glowed in pale blue light for the rest of her days–he was discussing something with Caridin and Shale. Zevran was supposed to rest, but he was feeling fine and full of energy; sitting in this disgusting place doing nothing was worse than being imprisoned.

So when Airam approached him with broad smile that meant he wanted Zevran to do something, he was happy and eager and agreed before Airam could say what it was.

"Should you really agree so quickly?" asked Airam, chuckling. "Last time you did that, you became a spider bait, remember?"

"Yes, but there are no spiders nearby this time. So what is it you wish from me, hmmm?"

"I want you to go with Shale, Sten and Rask to Shale's home town. Cadash thaig. Caridin says it's only two days walk from here, and at least the first half should be safe–he put guardians and traps from that direction, too. He'll deactivate them for you, of course. There's shouldn't be a bigger problem- "

"Wait, wait," he cut in when the initial shock decreased a bit. "You want me to go to some forgotten thaig with those two? And you would be here alone with injured Morrigan and a dwarf angry over the death of his crazy wife? No. Forget it."

"Yes, but..."Airam looked around and dropped his voice. "Oghren is exactly the reason I need you to do it. Oghren helped us a lot... and all we did was kill his wife. Me and Shale, you know. When Morri and you were out, I used my strongest spell, desperate to get that damned rod from her. Shale was right next to her, and she hit her, full force. Smashed her head into thousands pieces, you know. Right in front of Oghren. And I don't have to tell you what it's like, to watch the person you love die like that."

Zevran nodded. "So you want to... what? Apologize? Console him?"

"I don't know myself, yet," Airam admitted with a shrug. "But I must at least try. And besides, I need a team that will trust each other and cooperate; we'll need both Oghren and Shale, on our way back. That will be the second part of your task. To talk with Shale."

"You must be kidding, yes? What am I supposed to tell her?"

"I don't know. Use your manly charm! As long as you don't tell her she's fat, you'll be fine."

They both laughed at that, and Airam took it as a sign that Zevran agreed. He still didn't like the idea of leaving Airam behind, but he could understand it, and was in fact bit impressed. The crazy kid was growing into a good leader.

It was agreed they would leave the next day–or, more precisely, after Airam would have sufficient number of poultices and potions ready. They were going without a mage, and he didn't want to risk more than necessary.

"Zevran is in charge," he insisted on the strategy meeting. "You two are even worse tacticians than I am. Especially you, Sten. Your idea of tactics is to roar 'For honour!'-or what it is you're roaring–and rush on the enemies. I spent a lot of time an energy mending you, and I'll be really pissed off if you get yourself killed. I'll go to the Fade and kill you again, if you do. Same for the rest of you. So try to stay alive and whole."

And so the next day, Caridin led them to the other end of the cave. They had to cross a thin rock bridge across the lava pit; it looked as if it would crumble down the moment they stepped on it, though Caridin assured him it could easily bear twenty big golems at the same time. Still, he was relieved when they were safely on the other end.

He looked back, but he couldn't see their camp any more; it made him feel uneasy. For the first time since he pledged his loyalty to Airam, he was leaving him. It felt weird. It felt wrong. But he forced himself to turn back and move forward, followed by a grumpy Shale and an indifferent Sten. The only one who seemed happy to go was Rask; Airam bribed him with a promise of a whole roasted nug. Zevran wished his wishes were that simple.

oOo

Travelling without Airam was just as boring and uncomfortable as he thought. They progressed in silence, pressing forward as quickly as they could, resting only when they were falling asleep on their feet. Nobody talked or joked or complained; it was driving him crazy. At one point he started to sing a merry Antivan tune, but it sounded hollow, as if the endless stone around them stifled it before it could begin properly. The other two didn't react in any way and after a while he admitted his defeat and stopped.

Caridin gave them small stones that were glowing with a cold white light; that was good, of course, without light they would be lost after five minutes, but he missed Airam's little wisps, buzzing around in circles. They would be better company than Sten and Shale. And, he missed Airam. With every step he took, he missed him more. He missed his jokes and cheeky comments, the sight of him crouching over the book, his laugh and his sparkling eyes... He chuckled. He was _worse_ than Leliana. And the crazy kid thought he _wanted_ to leave? The first thing he would do, when they returned was talk to Airam about future. The Warden Commander would still need a bodyguard, no? And a friend. And perhaps–_don't go there.__ Don't hope too much_.

With a sigh, he forced his mind to focus on the task before them, and to pay attention to things around him. If he wanted to see Airam again, he should survive first. And yet, the thought lingered on the edge of his consciousness, unspoken, but no less intensive.

oOo

Well now. They came, they saw the monument, killed all darkspawn, and now they were on their way back. He tried hard to see some meaning in it all, but he didn't. This had to be his most insignificant mission since he was an apprentice. But it seemed it did mean something to Shale, so he kept his mouth shut. There still was the second part of his mission, and it wouldn't help to make Shale angry with him even before he tried.

To his surprise, it was her who came to him, when they set a tiny camp. He just started cleaning his daggers, when she stood next to him. "Would the painted elf talk to me for a moment?" she asked, and it was obvious she was very uncomfortable.

"Of course! How can I be of service?"

She didn't answer immediately, but he didn't press her, pretending to be fully focused on what he was doing, though in truth, he was burning with curiosity. What did she want to discuss, that it made her so nervous? Perhaps she wanted to woo him, now that she knew she also used to be a squishy thing? He chuckled inwardly at the idea.

"Is it angry with me?" she asked finally.

Not what he expected. "Why should I be angry with you?"

"Not the painted elf," she grumbled impatiently, "It. The Warden."

The nickname irritated him more than ever. After all the crazy kid did for this pile of stones, he deserved at least that bit of respect. "He does have a name, you know. I've never heard him calling _you_ a golem, or it, or anything else than Shale. Perhaps it's time to return the favour, yes? All these nicknames were funny at the beginning, but it's old now."

To her credit, Shale looked embarrassed, and Zevran softened his tone. "As for your question, no he is not angry with you. Why would you think that?"

"I killed Branka."

"Well, he froze her, no?"

"Yes. But he wouldn't kill her. I knew it. That is why I killed her. I didn't want her to survive."

"Why?"

"She wanted to create more golems. She heard what Caridin said and she still wanted to do it. When I volunteered, I wanted to protect my home. It is a warrior's duty to do anything he must do protect the others. But all I became was a... a machine for killing. A slave, without its own will. I may not have my memories, but I am sure I never volunteered for that."

"I... understand," he mumbled. It was similar to his own fate. A slave. A creature with stone heart. A killer. If he knew someone had the power to make thousands of innocents undergo that change... he would kill him, too. "You did a right thing."

"But It... the Warden. He's still friendly with that dwarf. He would spare that horrible woman because of that."

"That is quite possible, yes," he admitted. "Just take the three of us. He gave a second chance to an assassin, to a killing machine, to a murderer... why not to a foolish man who loved a wrong woman? What Branka did was hardly Oghren's fault, and I daresay it hurt him more than any of us. Would you really want Airam to turn his back on him, now that he needs help most?"

Shale mused over with for a while. "That is true, I guess," she admitted. "Perhaps It would keep both of us, after all. It would be a pity to leave now. I understand that the Archdemon is a big winged lizard. That is almost as bad as a bird. I would like to be there to squish it."

Zevran stared at her. She was–she was worried that Airam would send her away? _We're almost like twins, no? Both the same fools_. Grinning, he pat her on her stone knee. "Do not worry, my friend. We will squish it together and cut off it wings. It will never poo at any statue again."

She frowned and for a moment he was worried it offended her. "That would be quite a poo. It is good it wasn't here while I couldn't move."

_Yes, exactly the same fools._

OOo

When they returned, they found everything as it should be, once again: Airam ecstatic, Morrigan acerbic and Oghren drunk.

"You're in your best form again, I see," he said to Morrigan. "Any next life experience?"

She glared at him. "It was a bliss. There was a lack of annoying assassins there."

"If you're not happy to be back, just say the word. I can easily rectify it–I am an assassin after all, as you so cleverly observed," he offered.

"Oooh how scary! Yes, please try. You would look so much better as a frog," she snapped, and then turned to Airam. "Now that they're back and this foolish, sentimental side quest of yours is over, can we finally get out of this place?"

"Of course!" Airam was beaming; it seemed nothing could ruin his good mood. "We're going to crown the king! Oh, you don't know!" he added when he noticed Sten disapproving look. "You have to see this! Caridin made it for us, before we destroyed the Anvil!"

He ran to his backpack and returned with a massive crown of gold; a real masterpiece, perfectly crafted and decorated with diamonds. Even Sten had to admit it was beautiful.

"But we still don't know who should be the King," Zevran reminded him.

"Never mind. We'll use that backup plan of yours–and with this, we can pick whoever we want. What do you say, Sten? Wouldn't you like to be the King of the dwarves? You could bring order into their society." He put the crown on Sten's head. "It suits you. You'd be an impressive king, wouldn't he, Zev?"

"_No_," he replied.

Sten made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "I think Shale should be the Queen," he said, took the crown off his head and put it on Shale's. "I understand dwarves revere the stone."

There was a moment of shocked silence, before Airam started laughing. "Sten! You made a joke! That itself made the trip to this place worth it!"

It was the best day of their stay in the Deep Roads–better even than the night in the old thaig. They joked and talked and tried the crown; Morrigan pretended she was annoyed, but she couldn't fool an assassin. It was obvious she enjoyed all the compliments about how regal she looked. And they did have a bath, too. While they were gone, Caridin brought what looked like a big stone chest so Airam could bath Morrigan and clean her wounds–something she would never forgive him, as it seemed.

Caridin watched them and listened to their stories, but he never joined them. He would often glance to where Anvil was, or to the lava pit. "He's like that all the time," Airam whispered. "I'm really worried about him."

Zevran quirked a brow at him. "Do you wish to take him with us, too?"

"Well, he would be a _huge_ help, don't you agree?" Airam chuckled. "But he doesn't want to come."

"You mean you actually invited him?!"

Airam blushed and didn't answer.

oOo

The next day, before they left, Caridin gave them a dwarven blessing of the ancestors. Oghren and Shale bowed their heads, and even Morrigan kept quiet for once. Maybe she was just too happy to be leaving to care.

Zevran was at the rear, as they filed out of the cave. When he glanced back, Caridin was standing on the edge of the lava pit, patiently watching them leave.

oOo

_Bang!_ The heavy stone gate shut back behind them. The sweetest sound in his life.

"The Wardens are back!" someone shouted, in a quite surprised tone. Tch. Were there any doubts?


	22. Broken Toys

First of all, I apologize to everyone who sent me a review and I _still_ didn't reply. I'm a terrible person. :(

Some of you may recognize the name of this chapter - it's also the name of the oneshot about Airam's backstory. I decided to include it here, because it is important for the future plot. But even if you've read it before, I recommend not to skip it - there are few changes, as I made it fit with the rest of the Failed to Fail.

Thanks to Seika for her help and advice! :)

* * *

**Broken Toys**

The evening of their return was most enjoyable. Airam enjoyed retelling all their adventures, down to the smallest detail, and he enjoyed watching Airam: eyes sparkling, wide grin, and arrogant confidence, making the Deep Roads sound like a dark pit crawling with terrible monsters, which they, of course, defeated without breaking a sweat.

"And now we should decide who will be the king," said the crazy kid after he finished, pretending not to see Alistair's impatience; it was obvious that he was burning with desire to tell an adventure of his own.

"Oh. Right," he muttered after Airam's statement.

"But not before I get a detailed report from you about what you've all been doing here," Airam added with a wide grin.

"Before he starts," said Leliana, turning to Morrigan. "Are these two fools finally together or not?"

"And why do you ask me? I am not interested in such nonsense," the witch snapped.

"Which two?" Airam asked sweetly. "Really, who are you talking about? Sten and Shale? No, I don't think so." Ignoring Leliana's amused smile, he turned to Alistair again. "Well then, I'm giving you the word."

"We destroyed the Carta," Alistair burst out, unable to hold any longer and as oblivious to what was going on as usual. But it was a good story, quite an achievement, and Zevran had to admit that Alistair had full right to be proud about it.

The Carta didn't like the Wardens' work in Dust Town–it hurt their usury business. It was an endless circle: the people thought they would only borrow a few coppers, but the interest rates were so high that before they knew it, they owed the Carta several sovereigns, which was more most of them earned during their whole lives. The Carta would take away everything that had any value, and, in the end, their very lives. They were practically slaves.

While the Wardens were just healing and giving away free food, the Carta did not care about it; but when they started to teach people how to do things themselves, that was something different. Soon, problems started: sabotages, threats, blackmailing Dusters not to participate in it. After a few days of this, Alistair was sick and tired of it all and decided they had to do something.

For Leliana and Faren, it wasn't very difficult to find out where the Carta's hideout is and to get the key. Then they convinced few of Faren's old friends to join them, and raided the hideout.

"I think we did a good job," Alistair said with poorly masked satisfaction.

"Vice-Commander was really awesome," Faren noted with a smile.

Airam quirked the brow at Alistair, whose face immediately turned crimson. "That–that was his idea, not mine!"

"And what are you?" Airam asked Faren. "Head of recruits?"

"Of course... and any other parts you'd like," he replied with a sly grin.

Zevran found that remark incredibly stupid and distasteful.

"You sound like Zev," muttered Alistair, and blinked when he noticed Zevran's furious glare. "Ugh... I... anyway, we destroyed the whole Carta, and burned all of the debentures we found."

"Now if only the new king promised to help, they would have a real chance to change their fate," added Leliana.

"All right, then," said Airam thoughtfully. "Leli, how fast you think you can make the false note from Branka? Do you think you can have it in two days?"

"Of course! I'll start working on it immediately. But what name should I write?"

"Don't write any name. Write that she leaves the decision to me. Al and Zev, you'll go to ask the two candidates for an audience for tomorrow; Faren, you'll go to the Assembly and ask for a session in two days. I don't care about their schedule. If they make any problems, tell them that if they refuse, I'll go with Branka's advice and crown a drunk monkey!"

Faren didn't seem amused. "But, Commander... I'm a casteless... perhaps someone else should-"

"No, you're not. You're with Wardens now," Airam snapped. "And I'll conscript any fool who dares to object."

In truth, Zevran agreed with Faren. It would be better not to provoke the deshyrs, not yet; but Airam obviously wanted to make a point to the dwarves, so he didn't say anything. In any case, the next few days would be fun.

oOo

He was already half asleep, when he heard Airam's anxious whispering.

"Zevran? Are you sleeping?"

"Mmnnnnno, not yet. Something wrong?"

"No, I… I just wanted apologize–it must be embarrassing for you, when everyone is putting you together with me."

"No, it's–"

"I'll tell girls to stop, don't worry."

"I'm not–"

"Good night, Zev."

"Good night," he grumbled, though he had no idea what was supposed to be good about it. _Is the idea of two of us together that repulsive to him?_ It took him hours to fall asleep again.

oOo

Everyone knew already that the Wardens were back from the Deep Roads, and would crown a king soon. Thanks to that, both Bhelen and Harrowmont were eager to meet with the Warden Commander as soon as possible. And the Lord Steward, happy with the prospect that the whole mess would be solved so soon, called in for the session for the next morning – without the slightest remark about Faren's brand, as he reported, beaming with pride.

After some discussion, it was agreed that only the Wardens, Leliana and himself would go to stand before the deshyrs, but that everyone would go to the Assembly the next day. Better to be ready, in case the rejected candidate decided to make trouble.

The audience with Harrowmont went more or less as they expected. It was obvious he wasn't happy with what they did in the Dust Town; he repeated several times that Orzammar needed stability and a return to traditions and values that formed dwarven society. That he spoke about 'the support of Wardens in their matter', as if the Blight didn't concern him, didn't endear him to Airam, either.

That he didn't even invite them for a lunch, didn't endear him to Zevran; after a night that wasn't good at all, he spent whole morning as an errand boy and would welcome a proper meal. Oh well. Perhaps they would have better luck with Bhelen.

Bhelen did not invite them for a lunch, either, but the audience went much better. He started by giving Airam the draft of the agreement about cooperation during the Blight.

"That is a big number," noted Leliana when she saw how many soldiers he was promising. "Where do you intend to find all these men?"

He smiled, expecting the question. "I intend to recruit the casteless," he said. "It will help them," he added hastily when he saw a flash in Airam's eyes. "I'm not trying to abuse them, Warden; I merely want to give them a chance to use their potential. Any casteless that joins the army will be immediately become a member of a Warrior caste."

"Isn't the Warrior caste the second most respected, right after the nobles?" asked Airam suspiciously. "Forgive me, but I can't imagine the others would agree. I understand that the dwarven traditions-."

"To the Void with the traditions! I don't care about traditions; I make them. Do not worry, Warden Commander; I assure you the others _will_ agree. We've ignored the casteless long enough. Orzammar needs fresh blood, and a new start. Fools like Harrowmont would rather see it ruined than changed, but I will not allow it." Bhelen looked at Airam, with a cruel glint in his eyes. "I will bring Orzammar to the new era of glory, with the help of the Wardens or without it. And I will destroy anyone who would stand in my way."

oOo

"I vote for Harrowmont," said Alistair for the twentieth time.

"He's weak," Zevran replied for the twentieth time as well. "You won't get much help from him. And the casteless will remain as they are. I vote for Bhelen."

"Have you seen that man? He's crazy! He'll murder anyone who opposes him–he practically said so, right in front of us!"

"He will do anything he must, to save his country," he snapped. "You of all people should approve of such an approach."

"You know, the argument that the Wardens do whatever it takes to stop the Blight is getting old. We're not heartless monsters! We-"

"That's enough, guys," Airam grumbled. "You're not helping. Leliana said the agreement was fair. And just because he didn't say so, we can't be sure Harrowmont won't kill his opponents. Bhelen is not a diplomat... but I think I like that, in fact. These little political games are so tiring. Besides, I don't want everything we–everything _you_ did, Alistair–for the casteless to be ruined again."

"So you're going to make Bhelen a king? That murderer? You can't be serious!"

Airam sighed and rubbed his face. "I am. Unless you volunteer yourself, Bhelen will be the king."

oOo

There were many more dwarves in the Assembly than before; it seemed the deshyrs brought their families and all friends to watch the show. It was so crowded he expected it to burst at any moment, spilling the dwarves all over Orzammar. He quickly glanced over at Airam, but it was difficult to say if he was anxious or not. Dagna and Zerlinda were sitting somewhere in that mass too–the courtesy of Lord Stewart.

The rest of them stood next to Airam, in the middle of the hall, like some kind of a dangerous wild animal. It made him feel uncomfortable and apprehensive. He would be glad to be out of this disgusting town, once and for all.

Airam coughed, and the whispers in the hall calmed down. "Ladies and gentlemen," he begun. "The last time I stood here, I warned you about the danger of the coming Blight; and I was told that only the king can decide about sending the dwarven troops to the surface. I was asked to seek the Paragon Branka, and bring to you her recommendation about who should be the next king. And I did find her; I have her reply right here." He showed them the paper, and the dwarves gaped in awe.

"Unfortunately, she didn't give me a definite answer. She left the decision to me." A wave of rumors and protests ran through the crowd, but Airam ignored it. "Let me assure you, that this decision did not make me happy. I believe such decision should be made by your people, not by an outsider-"

"You didn't care about being an outsider when you caused havoc in the Dust Town!" someone shouted.

"Havoc? I offered help they needed, and they accepted. Correct me if I'm wrong, but according to dwarven traditions, casteless are not a part of your society. They are not even dwarves, they just look like dwarves, but they are soulless creatures, cursed by your ancestors. Or were the Shapers lying to me?" Airam paused, waiting for dwarves to calm down again.

"But I am not here to defend myself. I'm here, because there is a Blight going on. In such times, it is crucial to have a strong king, who will be a good leader and do whatever is needed to protect his country and lead it to stability and prosperity. Before I say my decision, however, I have two little requests, if I may." He turned to where Harrowmont and Bhelen were sitting.

"First, I would like both Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen to promise that they will respect my decision. No more arguing and fighting. Whoever will become the king, the opponent will respect it; and vice versa, the king will not seek a revenge. I saw a beheading the first day I arrived to Orzammar–I don't want to see one on my last day as well."

Lord Harrowmont stood up and bowed, with hand on his heart. "I swear to respect the decision of the Warden Commander, and not to seek any revenge against my opponent," he declared loudly. There were cheers and boos from the public, and it took some time till they calmed down again.

During that time, Prince Bhelen watched Airam with half amused, half angry smirk. "I will respect your decision and I will not seek a revenge," he declared when everyone was quiet again, but he didn't bow, or even get up.

"Thank you," said Airam. "My second request you already know. I want you to make a public promise that you will support the Wardens in fighting darkspawn."

Lord Harrowmont stood up again and the whole scene with a promise and commotion and exasperated cries of the Lord Steward repeated. Bhelen just grinned. "I promise if the Wardens promise to help dwarves in fighting darkspawn."

"We would do that even without promise, as it is our job, but as you wish. In the name of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, I promise to help the dwarves fighting the darkspawn." Ignoring the soft chuckles of Alistair and Faren, behind his back, he stepped forward.

"As I said already, in times of a Blight it is necessary to have a leader who will be strong, and able to make difficult decisions and necessary changes. Both Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen and respectable nobles, and have many qualities of a good leader-"

Zevran couldn't help snorting a little. Airam shoulders stiffened, but he continued as if he didn't hear it.

"-but, as I have to choose, I choose the man I believe will serve his people better, in this time of war. Prince Bhelen, please step forward."

The triumphant roar of Bhelen's supporters drowned out disappointed complaints and protests of Harrowmont's group. Zevran watched carefully for any sign of trouble, but Lord Harrowmont was already calming down his people, reminding them of his promise to respect the decision.

Bhelen walked over to Airam with a smug grin on his face, as if he was a ruler of the whole Thedas and not just one smelly town.

"Kneel down," said Airam. Bhelen hesitated, but when Airam didn't say anything else, he obeyed.

"Bhelen Aeducan, are you willing to make an oath?" Airam asked.

"I am," said Bhelen, now clearly surprised.

"Do you promise and swear by the Ancestors, to govern the people of Orzammar and always act in their benefit?"

"I do."

"Will you use your power to cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I will."

"Then, by the power granted to me by this Assembly and Paragon , I, Airam Surana, the Commander of Grey Wardens, crown you the rightful King of Orzammar."

Leliana stepped forward with the crown, and Airam put it on the Bhelen's head. "This crown was crafted by the Paragon Caridin for you, King Bhelen. Wear it proudly."

oOo

The feast was glorious; there was always someone giving toasts to Airam or Alistair, or asking them to retell the meeting with Branka and Caridin. Only at the end of the day, when the whole Royal Palace smelled like a fermentation station, and the attention of their dwarven hosts was diminished, did they manage to get out of the Palace and return to the inn.

The next morning was very busy with packing and buying the last supplies, while Airam and Leliana went to the Palace to sign the official agreement with Bhelen. Airam returned very pleased–he met Kardol in the Palace made him agree to help the Wardens as well.

And that wasn't the only ally they got.

"Warden. You're a good guy," said Oghren, still half-drunk from the previous evening.

"Thank you, Oghren, you're a-"

"So I'm coming with you. Just thought you'd wanna know."

And nothing anyone said could make him change his mind.

oOo

They were escorted by the Lord Steward in a proper farewell ceremony, with many formal farewells, blessings, thanks and presents. It lasted more than two hours. But at least they didn't have to climb up those three hundred seventy five steps to the top. Royal guests like them were allowed to use a lift–much faster and more comfortable than climbing.

When he stepped outside, the bright light almost hurt his eyes, and the air tasted strange without any odours, _too_ fresh and chilly. He heard a surprised gasp beside him and turned to see Dagna, looking around her with wide eyes.

He put an arm around her shoulder. "Scared?"

"Yes, but just a little bit. I always wanted to go to the surface, you see, but I couldn't imagine it, of course, and now that I'm here-"

"Don't worry," he interrupted her, knowing by now that it was the only way to stop her talking. "Now that you're here, the whole world lies open for you, with all its magic secrets."

Naturally, that started another merry torrent of babbling about magic, but he didn't care. Nodding without listening, he let the pleasant, cool wind blow his hair, feeling alive like never before.

oOo

Zevran cursed and pulled the cape tighter around him. It was no use; no matter how many layers he was wearing, the chilly wind always found a slit through which it got to his skin. This would count as a coldest winter in Antiva, but Alistair assured him it was just a beginning of autumn here and that it would get much worse. Did he really enjoy the cool wind? He must have had a brain fever at that time. He started to miss the cosiness of Orzammar.

"Oooh did you hear that, Faren?" Dagna's excited voice interrupted his sulking. "There will probably be a hailstorm tomorrow. A real hailstorm! I'm so excited!"

He glared in the direction of the squeaking little dwarf. In the week since they had left Orzammar, there was not a thing that could diminish her determined enthusiasm for everything on the surface. Zerlinda spent the whole week shut away in the Bodahn's cart, scared of the big, open space all around her; Oghren and Faren acted brave but occasionally shot furtive glances to sky, probably to check it was still in place, but Dagna was fluttering around like a butterfly fresh from its cocoon.

It was impossible to sulk properly with someone like that nearby… but it didn't make him any warmer. Where was that crazy kid with the wood? He wanted nothing more than to sit next to the fire, huddled under fur he had stolen from the werewolves; one of the best idea he had had.

Leliana was preparing meat so they could start cooking it the moment Airam and Faren returned with wood and water. When she heard his sigh, she looked up at him, smiling. "Cold again?"

"Are you offering to warm me up?"

"_Me_? No, I think not. Besides, if you still don't have anyone to warm you up, you can only blame yourself, no? You have been with us half year now. And we made a bet, I think, after only few days. Before we went to search for the Andraste's holy ashes, no? Don't you agree that is more than enough time to seduce one sweet, naïve boy? Especially for someone as skilled as you?"

"Oh, my dear, I admit that our little Warden proved to be a bigger challenge than I'd expected, but I have not given up just yet. I'm an eternal optimist. And I assure you that soon enough, he will invite me to his tent, and when I'm done with him, he'll never want to…"

Something in her smile made him stop abruptly. Expecting the worst, he slowly turned around. Sure enough, Airam was standing there, with arms full of fire wood. Staring at him… with tears in eyes? _Oh, Zevran, you're such an idiot_.

"Air, I'm–"

But the boy flinched as if he had hit him, dropped the logs and ran away into the forest. The desire to slit Leliana's throat was so strong he had to clench his fists. But she wasn't important now. He had to find Airam.

It took him almost an hour. Airam was quietly sitting under an old willow tree near a stream, hugging his knees and staring somewhere on the horizon. Face wet with tears. Zevran cursed himself again and approached him, deliberately making noise so as not to scare him.

"So how much am I worth, Zev?" he asked, his voice full of bitter disappointment. "Is it at least forty silvers? That's the price at the Pearl, no?"

"Air, I'm so, so sorry–"

"I was... I trusted you. I thought that _you _are different… that you're… _safe." _

It was worse than being stabbed into the heart. He gulped, unsure of what to say. How to fix it. Carefully, he took a step forward. "Air, please, let me explain. I didn't –"

"_Explain_?" Airam hissed and got up, face twisted with rage and disgust. Then he started to unlace his robe, determinedly staring in Zevran's eyes. "I think you made your point quite clear. This is what you want, then?"

"Air, no! Please, I… was just joking…"

"To take me? Bend me over and fuck my ass?" The robe fell on the ground, and Airam stepped out of it, only in his smallclothes. He pulled them off too, and for a moment, just stood there, naked and trembling. Then he turned around and bent over. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come and have your way with me."

"No! Air, please... kill me, if you wish, but don't do this…"

"This isn't to your liking? What would you like then, Zev? Oh, I know, I should suck you first, right? Or do you want to tie me up? Make me scream and cry for you? Share me? What would it be, Zev? How do you like it?" Airam's voice was almost hysterical.

Zevran felt tears pricking in his eyes when he slowly went to the robe and picked it up. Not looking at Airam's face, and ignoring the smalls–he wouldn't touch them for all gold in the world–he started to dress him. At the first touch of Zevran's hand, the boy stiffened and just stood there, silently, lifelessly, staring over Zevran's shoulder.

"Airam. I didn't mean it. I said it because I'm a Makerdamn fool, as a joke, I didn't think… I had no idea… I swear it is not like that…"

"Leave me alone, Zevran. You can even tell Leliana you won, if you wish."

He wanted to say something, but for once, his words failed him. Forcing his body to move, he turned away.

Back at camp, Leliana seemed worried when he returned without Airam, but he ignored her, only muttering that Airam was fine and that he wanted to be alone for a while. Then he went into his tent, and for the first time in twenty years, cried.

For the next three days, Airam didn't say one word to him. Or even look at him. The others noticed, of course, but he ignored their glances and inquiries. Leliana didn't say a word about what happened, either, at least not in front of the others. She came to him, the first evening, apologizing for what happened. The desire to slit her throat returned, stronger than ever. Perhaps she realized the danger, because she didn't protest when he pushed her out of his tent and didn't bother him again.

The silence was worse than any poison, filling his heart and soul with cold dread, growing stronger and stronger, until he wasn't able to feel anything else. Sometimes, he would look at Shale, cold and unmoving stone. At least that was the face he showed to others. But he knew now that it was just the mask. Cold, uncaring killer on the surface, scared and lonely in the inside. They really were similar. Both turned into hard, uncaring creatures meant only to serve their masters… Both rescued by the same boy who taught them to make choices, to _feel_ again. Who called them friends.

And that was the only thing that mattered–that _he had a friend_. That someone actually considered him, the whoreson and assassin, worthy of being a friend.

For the first time in his life, there was someone who trusted him, who protected him, fought by his side, without ever asking _anything_ for it. Someone who didn't think of him as of whore, who did not expect those "services" from him. When he offered Airam "the Antivan massage", Airam got so mad that he punched Zevran in the nose. _You're not a slave, Zev. I know the Crows treated you like one, but you're not a Crow any more! You're my friend! And I won't let anyone put you down like this! That includes yourself as well! Do you understand me, Zevran? Don't let me ever hear or see you humiliating yourself like that! Never!_

And now he had screwed it up and lost it all. Because of something that had become a joke long ago. Why didn't he tell Leliana that she won? That he didn't care about the stupid bet any more? But he knew why; it was because of his stupid pride. To admit defeat, in anything, was always out of the question. And it wasn't the first time it got him into trouble.

Three days now he wanted to go to the boy and apologize and explain it, but he didn't dare. And now Air came and asked him to go "collecting herbs" with him tomorrow early morning. Nobody was fooled by the pretence of course, least of all he, but nobody asked or complained. Even Alistair kept his mouth shut for once; he suspected Leliana explained to the fool that it was better not to mess with Zevran right now. As much as he was glad that these days of living nightmare would be over, he was dreading of tomorrow's morning.

Because the boy would certainly say something like, "Leave and don't return." And he would be right to do it. But… He wasn't sure if he could survive that. Not because of Crows. Because he couldn't imagine how he could live without his friend.

The sun was still not up when they left the next morning; some of the herbs had to be collected before the morning dew evaporated, Wynne explained. As if either of them cared for her herbs.

As they walked the tension between them increased. It seemed Airam was waiting for something… well, it was not so difficult to guess what. But he couldn't, he didn't dare, and it was clear that the boy was getting more and more anxious every moment that passed in silence. In the end, Airam couldn't stand it any more and turned to him.

"So–"

But he didn't finish. Instead he looked to the right and drew out his daggers. A moment later, darkspawn appeared. There were eight of them, but only genlocks. Annoying weaklings. Couldn't have chosen a worse moment to pop up. Well, at least they could serve as training dummies for Airam.

The boy pulled out his dagger from the heart of the last genlock and turned to him. And for a split second, he was sure he was the next one. They stared at each other, and then the crazy kid whispered the most unexpected, unreasonable and impossible thing he could.

"Sorry."

"What?"

"Sorry I yelled at you and… all that." Aiaram bowed his head in embarrassment, his face turning deep shade of pink.

"_What_?"

"It's just… the bet… I mean, he did it, too… and I, I thought…" He bit his lip, still avoiding Zevran's eyes. "You always see the worst of me."

He threw away his weapons and took Air's hands in his own. "Crazy kid, don't apologize when it was I who hurt you. I am so sorry… I shouldn't have made the stupid bet… or tell Leliana I don't care any more, I should have told her long ago…"

"You mean… you… reallymeant it, before?"

Airam tried to pull his hands from him, but he didn't let him. He had to explain it, somehow. "I will not lie to you. Yes, when we made the bet with Leliana, I really meant it. But that was when I was still a Crow, you know. But it is _different_ now. _I'm_ different."

"What do the Crows have to do with it?"

"Everything. Please, let me explain." He looked with disgust at the corpses at their feet. "But not here. Let's go bit further where we can sit and talk, yes?"

Airam about it for a moment, and nodded.

Silently, they walked for a few minutes till they came to a small clearing, with a steep slope at the furthest end. There they sat down.

"I'm listening."

Zevran sighed. This was going to be difficult. "Well… where should I start… Er, well, for most people, sex is something… sex is connected to emotions, yes? To what they feel towards the other person. Normally people have sex when they feel love, or at least some affection and trust to the other person, yes? But Crows… it's different. The first thing that Crow children learn is that there is no love, or trust, or friendship."

"But Crows work in teams too, no? How can they work together if they don't trust each other?"

"Ah, but that's something entirely different. Let me explain it with an example. We are team, yes? Our little party, I mean. If, let's say, Alistair was wounded, you would help him because you wouldn't want your friend to die. If we were a team of Crows, you would help him because you wouldn't want to bear the consequences for failing the mission. So it is not friendship or loyalty, but everyone thinking of their best interests that keeps the team working."

"And sex?"

"It's the same. Also in sex, there are no feelings. Only pragmatic consideration of one's interests. Precisely because sex is emotional for normal people, it makes it the perfect tool of manipulation for Crows. Not only to get to the mark; murder is not the only way to destroy someone, after all. Young Crows are carefully and thoroughly trained to use it. The training starts when they are around thirteen, and if, by some chance, they still had some emotions left at that time, after this training there are definitely none."

"They are…" Airam hesitated.

"Raped? No. Forced? Yes."

"That's the same thing."

"Perhaps. But the people who train them are most skilled in this. They know how and where to touch, how to please, how to make bodies respond in the way they want."

"Oh. I see. And then they tell them the 'body-never-lies' crap."

He had never heard such hate in Airam's voice. He looked at the boy and something cold squeezed his heart_. Whoever it was I will hunt him down and make him beg for death. _

"Yes. They are touched by people they don't like, that disgust them, or people they fear and hate and are told that their body likes it, that they want it, that they are nothing more than whores... There are many that cannot stand it. The constant feeling of being dirty. Shame. And guilt…"

"I know."

"But those who survive… by fifteen, they are able to seduce pretty much anyone. And they are _proud_ about it. They are beautiful, cold and proud, walking deadly weapons. By eighteen, if they are any good, they have already killed one hundred, and seduced at least twice as many. And if they are really good, and survive till twenty five, they have a pretty good chance to become Masters themselves. By that time they will be long beyond counting; cruel and merciless just like those Masters I… they hated so much. They would get their own apprentices to… train."

Airam looked at him, then quickly averted his gaze, biting his lip; it was clear he wanted to know, but didn't want to ask.

"I was not a Master… yet. I needed one more successful mission."

Airam winced. "You…"

He shook his head. "I made my choice that first night, remember? You know, you've never told me how you knew… But you saved me, in more ways than one. I owe you so much."

"Oh?" Airam quirked his eyebrow. "And that's why you decided to use that weapon against me?"

"No! I… was just… I did not want to hurt you, but… I did not trust you, either. I was sure you would want something from me."

"Like what?"

"Well that was exactly what I could not understand. Do you understand me at all, Air? Everything I learned about life, everything I thought I left behind me so long ago… I knew I would never be able to hurt you, but I was still who I was. Things like friendship, or trust… even now, it is still new for me; I'm afraid I will never be very good at it. And back then, the very idea of trust or friendship was… totally absurd. I was sure you must have had some darker motives and that once you got what you wanted, you'd dispose of me. So I decided to… _secure_ my survival… by becoming your lover. That was something I understood, something I was good at. I thought it would be something enjoyable and… profitable, for both of us. It was at that time that I made the stupid bet."

Airam stared at him in surprise. "Secure your survival? You thought you had to – oh, Zev," he whispered, with guilty look. "I was so blind. I never realized how difficult it must be for you… I'm sorry. Some friend I am."

"Don't say that. You, you are the best friend anyone could wish. Trying to assassinate you was the best mistake I ever made."

"But you know, Zev, it wasn't that difficult to resist you…" Airam chuckled softly. Zevran felt as if he was rescued from drowning in the last moment. Shakily, he took a deep breath.

"You're not as great as you pretend to be, are you?" Airam continued with a grin, and he replied in the same tone.

"Tch. If I really wanted to seduce you, it would have been easy, trust me."

"But you just said you _did _want it."

"I said I _decided_ to do so. But, even then I… couldn't. I think I respected you too much."

Airam shook his head. "Even if you tried, you wouldn't succeed. It's… I don't think I'll ever…" He bowed his head, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," he said gently. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

"I... I don't want to bother-"

"To _bother_ me?" He gently lifted his chin to look in his eyes. "You never bother me. It helps when you can tell it to someone you trust, it hurts less. _You_ taught me that. You taught me that this is what friends are for. I know I'm not the most trustworthy person, but–"

"Of course I trust you. It's just–it still hurts, I can't forget, I dream about it every night, I see them in every Templar I meet, and–"

There was that cold hate in Airam's voice again, and when Zevran looked in his eyes, he saw they were once again black like death. He gently pulled Airam a bit closer and put his hand around his shoulder. For a moment they just sat like that in silence. It seemed Airam wouldn't tell him after all, but then he continued.

"My parents were apostates. We were living, my parents, me, and my little sister, deep in a forest. Not with the Dalish; only the four of us. Everything was so perfect! In the summer, we played on the forest meadow, building little houses in the trees, eating wild berries and drinking icy cold water directly from the stream. Mum would scold us that we're like little animals, but Dad would laugh and tell her to let us play, that it wouldn't hurt us. And in the winter, we would build snowmen…" Airam laughed, absorbed in the memory. "I remember the last winter I made one really huge for Mellit–my sister. And she took Mum's best fur cap and arranged them on it, and even a pair of Mum's gloves, she put them on the wooden sticks… she said it was her best friend and was really upset when Mum took it back…"

It was the first time Airam had ever talked about his family; for a moment, his eyes shone by some inner light, and he looked happy and more beautiful than ever. But the next second it was gone. Zevran felt him shivering against his arm.

"It was on my eight birthday. I was looking forward for it, see, because I thought Dad would teach me one spell… a very difficult one. In fact, it is the ultimate spell for an ice mage. Dad promised to teach me, one day, and I convinced myself it would be on my eight birthday. Maker, what a stupid child I was." Airam sighed. "Mum made me a great lunch, and a big cake, but I didn't care. I couldn't wait for it to be over, so that Dad could teach me. But when I asked him, he just laughed and said I had to be a lot bigger. In the next eight years, he promised. I was furious. I ran away into the forest. I heard them calling after me, but I didn't react. And I–I wished they were gone and that I was left alone. And now I'm here, and they're gone, dead because of my stubbornness and silliness."

"You were just a little kid, Air. Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault."

"I wasn't that little, I was eight, I should have known better! I knew about the Templars, you know. Dad explained me what they were and why they were waiting for us. I saw those five long before they saw me. I could have gotten away. But I was angry at Father... so I did it in spite. I let them see me, and talked to them. They were weird–high on lyrium, though I didn't know that then. All I knew was that they were weird and scary. But I never doubted my Dad could deal with them or anything else. And so I... I took them home."

Airam blinked away tears as he looked at him. "See now it was all my fault? They are dead, Zevran. Mum and Dad any my little sister, they're all dead because of me. _I_ let Templars catch me, _I_ led them directly to our hut! It was because they had _me_ that my parents didn't fight back! They were raped, and tortured, and slaughtered, all because of _me_!"

He pulled the sobbing boy into his arms, trying to find words that could console him, but what could be said to that? Even among Crows, few were willing to accept contracts that required torture of marks, and even fewer would do it in front of an innocent child. So he just held him, whispering that it was not his fault, but Air did not seem to hear, just kept talking, almost feverishly. As if he wanted to get it out of himself as soon as possible.

"They… made me watch it. They said if I didn't watch, they would do it to Mellit, too. She was only four! She was there and saw it and cried and I couldn't help her, I was her big brother and I couldn't do anything_, anything at all. _And their leader, he just laughed and laughed all the time and reminded me that it was my fault, that I should remember it forever, that I should never forget what happens to elven sluts that forget their place. But in the end, they killed her, too. I did everything they wanted, but I couldn't save her."

Now, these guys deserved torture. Death was too quick and simple a punishment for them. _I will make them suffer in pain, for years and years.__ I will find some poison that will make their flesh slowly rot on their bodies. _He desperately wanted to say something wise, comforting, but the words didn't come, so he just held Airam tighter, until he calmed down a bit.

"Why they didn't kill me as well, I have no idea," Airam continued after a while. "They took me to the Tower and during the trip there, every night, for weeks, they… they... I don't remember coming to the tower. All I remember is that I suddenly woke up from the nightmare, shrieking, and there was a strange boy near me, looking totally terrified, but still trying to calm me. That was how I first met Jowan and if it wasn't for him, I don't think I'd be here today. I'd probably have thrown myself out of a window."

He laughed, but it was the most terrible laugh Zevran had ever heard. "And do you know what happened to those Templars, Zev? A few years later I overheard Greagoir talking to another Templar about it. Apparently my parents were rather infamous, escaping Templars for years, so for finally removing this threat, our dear Knight Commander_ recommended their promotion_."

Zevran narrowed his eyes. The Knight Commander just got up to the top of his 'to-do' list. But there was one more mark he wanted to add there. "And… you said someone also… made a bet?"

"Yes, that… I never had many friends in the Tower. I was an elf, I looked like a freak and I screamed every night. They bullied me and laughed at me, but they did not try to hurt me. Now I think they were afraid of me… That I was tutored by the First Enchanter himself, didn't endear me to others, either. After Erwin left, I was mostly alone."

"What about Jowan?"

"He got tired of being in my shadow. And he had to suffer a lot of teasing and humiliation, because of me. In the end, it became too much and he started avoiding me. Then some three years ago, he appeared. Taranis. He was everything I wasn't. Handsome, popular, funny. He was always nice to me, and gave me a lot of small presents, said he was in love with me. Then, one day, he… forced me. I begged him to stop, but he didn't listen, just went on with that 'you-know -you-want-it' shit. And I… didn't stop him, because I didn't want… didn't want to lose him. But I didn't really enjoy it, Zev, I didn't enjoy it for one second. It made me sick. And it hurt like hell. Even so… I let him do it few more times. Because… I trusted him, I thought he really loved me. Andraste's sweet ass, how stupid I was. Then I heard him brag about it to some friend. Laughing how he won a bet. How he had 'tamed me completely'. "

"Oh Maker. And then I… I'm so sorry. "

"Don't be. You're nothing like him. You're a far better person than he could ever dream to be. And I had my revenge on him, anyway." He gave that terrible laugh again.

"You did?"

"I can be cruel if I want to, didn't I tell you? Oh, yes. Next time he even brought his friends with him. There were three of them. Said that he loved me and wanted to share my beauty with others, to make them adore me as well, something like that. But I was ready. I played along until they were naked and hard, then I paralysed them. And then I cast three spells: one, that would cause them nightmares, second, that froze them, and third, to keep them alive. Then I started to scream and when people came running, they found me hurt, shocked and unable to speak, near four ice statues in very peculiar positions. It took them three days to dispel it. Oh, Greagoir was furious. He wanted me to be tranquillized, but Irving saved me, said I did it unintentionally, in shock."

"They didn't witness against you?"

"Would _you_? After being an ice statue with nightmares for three days?"

"On the second thought… no, I guess not. But… you would not use something like that on me, would you?"

"Well, that's an idea isn't it. You know, I think I actually could, if I ever hear of that bet again."

"Point taken."

They remained sitting there, in silence, he with his arm wrapped around Airam and the boy resting his head on his shoulder. And it was enough.

It was past noon when they returned to camp–without a single herb picked, as Wynne pointed out, throwing suspicious glances at him. Airam just pointed at his blooded daggers.

"Sorry, Gran. We really wanted to, but we were attacked by some darkspawn."

"I… apologize. I should have noticed it. But you were not injured, were you?"

"We were, actually, both of us." Their eyes met and Airam smiled a little. "Took quite some time to clean up the wounds, didn't it, Zev? But it's all right now."

"Yes. It's all right now."

"Oh, and Leliana? I think Zev would like to say you something. Right, Zev?"

"…Right."

He watched the boy chatting and joking with the others and smiled. _Crazy kid. Tamed me completely, indeed._

_And I wouldn't have it any other way_.


	23. Crossroads

Thanks to all who are still reading this story, reviewed it or put it on alert. And to those who poked me until I finished this chapter. :)

Special thanks and a tight hug to my wonderful beta Seika, for her help and encouragement. :)

Now, a brief AN to those who sent me reviews or PMs about Orzammar and/or Airam's past.

I've been writing FTF for almost two years now. In the beginning, I planned to finish it quickly, one chapter for one big quest and no sidequests at all. But it kept growing, not only in length, but also (I hope) in depth, and as it changed, so did my style. Orzammar specifically had many strong points I knew would affect Airam and Zevran (and many plotholes I wanted to fix). I tried to make it as short as possible, but I no longer try to make it short just for the sake of brevity. I don't think I could cut out anything from those chapters without harming the story in some way.

Airam's past is dark and angsty, yes. But I don't think it's darker or more angsty than the past of his companions. Zevran, Morrigan, Alistair - each of them were abused as children, too. In another ways, yes, but not necessarily in less painful way. And, with lyrium addicted Templars and mages always treated as abominations in hiding, I think that what happened to Airam's family could have easily happened to many others. Thedas is a dark and scary place...

(This AN does NOT mean that I was offended with what you said in any way, or that it wasn't appreciated. I just thought that there are probably others who think the same, but didn't say anything. :))

* * *

**Crossroads**

Despite the disgusting Fereldan weather, the trip back to Denerim was most pleasant. Something had changed between him and Airam after that talk. He couldn't quite name the change; it was just a feeling he had around Airam... and Airam around him. At least, he hoped so. He saw it in Airam's eyes when he looked up from his book, in his smile... But during the nights, when he played those scenes in his mind again, he was never sure of what he had seen. Maybe it was just his imagination.

If only they could travel alone! He was sure that without all those nosy, annoying fools, Airam would be more open. The old hag was especially troublesome. No matter what Airam said or did, Wynne was still convinced that the two of them were lovers–and she blamed Zevran for seducing and corrupting the naïve child. Ah, but it was fun watching Airam fuming over being treated like a child. It was true that he was only eighteen and half, but he already had gone through his Harrowing, he snapped at her during one of her lectures. It was the first time Zevran had heard him _arguing_ with Wynne–he always happened to be near enough to overhear, coincidentally, of course–and the memory of Wynne's shocked face brightened the whole next week for him.

It was almost a pity they were so near their destination. Unless something happened, they would be in Erwin's house tomorrow evening. They would all have their own rooms and with Airam's busy agenda, Zevran would see him only during the training hour and meals. And that meant that today was the last day he could spend some time with Airam, and Andraste be damned if he wouldn't use this chance.

Airam was sitting near the fire, reading again. He sat down next to him, but Airam didn't even lift his eyes.

"Not now, Zev."

"Not what, _bello mio_? I just sat down."

"Yes, but I bet you wanted to distract me, and I need to learn this before tomorrow. And I told you not to call me that."

"Ah, such cruel accusations. When did I ever distract you?"

Airam snorted and finally looked up at him. "Oh, only every time you see me with a book."

"What kind of spell is it, that it's important to learn it before tomorrow, anyway?"

"It's not a spell, it's one of Erwin's journals about politics and economy and it's the most complicated, illogical, and boring thing I've ever read. So please, I know it's difficult for you, but at least try to be quiet."

_Brasca_. This was going to be much more difficult than he expected. Airam was clearly not in the right mood, so he just sat there, watching him quietly... well, unless you count a deep, dramatic sigh, every now and then. It didn't take long till Airam looked up at him again.

"Would you _please_ stop staring at me like that, and sighing as if I was torturing you? Don't you have anything else to do? Why don't you play cards with Faren?" he turned to the young dwarf, who was sitting on the opposite log, frying a mushroom on a long stick.

"I'm not playing with that cheater," Faren replied with a growl.

"Tsk, tsk. You should learn to lose, my friend. I won because I'm a better player. Naturally."

"Better player my ass! There's no way you'd win eleven times in a row without cheating!"

"_Eleven_ times?" Airam chuckled, finally putting the journal aside. "Against Faren? Impressive."

"See? Even the boss acknowledges my skills. There's no way you'd win in an honest way."

"I acknowledge your skills in _cheating_," Airam pointed out. "You're just as bad as Zev."

"Oh, I wouldn't say he's bad," said Zevran graciously. "Merely average. While I am the best." He beamed at Faren. "But I am willing to give him a few lessons. You could join us and be our judge-"

"Not interested," Faren cut in. "I have better things to do than waste my time with you."

Zevran didn't miss the look he shot at Dagna, who was chatting merrily with Wynne. Oh ho! That promised a lot of fun... later. Now he had other plans. "Yes, yes. Ignore me! Just like everyone else. I am a cheater and an assassin and a seducer, best not to have anything to do with me, yes?"

Airam rolled his eyes. "You are true martyr, more than Andraste herself. What's her burning alive to my horrendous demand that you'd be quiet for a moment? Hm... I have an idea. Wait here."

Amused, he watched Airam walking over to the Bodahn's cart. What did the crazy kid want to do now? Whatever it was, it had separated him from the journal, so it had to be a good thing, yes?

"Here." Airam tossed something into his hands, when he returned. "It's supposed to be a new bestseller by a very famous author. Bodahn says it's the raciest book he's ever stored, so you should like it."

"_Enchanting the Iron Maiden_. A true love story of the Knight Commander Merrylith and the First Enchanter Orlando." Zevran lifted his brow. "A new bestseller? I didn't know Bodahn was now a specialist on modern literature. Since when does he store books?"

"I... well, I asked him to keep his eyes open for new books," Airam admitted, the tips of his ears turning a lovely shade of pink. "He got this one in Orzammar, says it was very popular among the noble ladies."

"Why would dwarven ladies read books about surfacers?"

Wynne turned to them with sudden interest. "Is it new Thetras, by any chance?"

Zevran checked the name of the author. "It is. How did you know?"

"He's the most popular current dwarf author that publishes abroad," she replied with what was probably supposed to be an indifferent shrug; but the longing in her face, as she looked at the book was too obvious.

Zevran's grin widened. Oh, this was good. First Faren, now this. And here he was afraid that the evening would be too dull.

"Ah, if Wynne recommends it, I will gladly read it," he said innocently. "Would you say it is comparable to The Rose of Orlais? I really liked that one, though some descriptions were bit overblown, no?"

Wynne stared at him with shocked disbelief. "So it was you who nicked it? And I was suspecting Leliana!"

"How could you, Zev! I'd never thought you'd do something like that!" Airam exclaimed in a disappointed voice, but the wide grin ruined the effect.

Nobody was convinced, least of all Wynne. But as usual, she didn't glare at Airam, but at him. "Your... friend has a bad influence on you, young man," she said stiffly, before turning to Dagna. "Come, my dear. We'll continue our lesson in my tent. These two are not a proper company for a young lady."

Dagna, who was watching everything with huge interest, seemed a bit disappointed, but when Wynne started to talk about magic again, she followed her without protests.

"You don't seem like a type who sneaks into the tent of an elderly lady to nick her romantic book," said Faren when they were gone, with a most annoying smirk on his face.

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises," he replied. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to read the book that our wonderful leader bought for me."

Reading the book was much more fun than he had expected, though the others apparently disagreed. After merely the sixth or seventh declamation of exceptionally racy parts, they all fled to their tents. Airam was the only one who stayed–he had the first watch. Zevran's would be right after that, as always. The others were so used to it by now that they automatically set their watch together.

"Are you going to torture me it with the whole evening?" Airam asked after a while.

Zevran chuckled. "I would, but I get the feeling that you'd soon lose your patience and freeze me, so I'll stop now."

"Wise decision," Airam agreed with a smile. "And Zev. Thanks for not ratting on me to Wynne."

"You're welcome. But you had to be really desperate, to sneak into the lion's den just to nick a book."

"I didn't sneak anywhere! She forgot it near the fire one evening. I just, uh, _forgot_ to mention I found it. But I'm sure she wouldn't believe me, and I've had enough of her lectures for a while. So thanks. I owe you."

"Oh? That sounds good. I'll hold you to that."

"All right. But now, please, I really need to study."

"Right now you need to guard the camp, no?"

"I have an idea. You want me to stop reading and talk with you, right? Then why don't you help me? Start by doing rounds, a dozen or so, and checking all the traps and glyphs. If you walk _very_ slowly, I might be done while you're back." Airam smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Yes, there was definitely an understanding between them.

oOo

In Denerim things started much better than he expected: Erwin didn't have enough spare rooms for all of them, so they had to sleep by two. There was a moment of confusion, when servants took his luggage into Sten's room, and he earned few suspicious glares when Sten informed Erwin, in his dry way, that Zevran and the commander were sleeping together now... In short, it was perfect.

And as they sat in Erwin's lovely lounge, dressed in clean, comfortable clothes that smelled of flowers and sipping most delicious red wine from Rivain, the Blight seemed distant and unreal. He told them all the new gossip about nobles and politics–but nobody paid much attention. Zevran hid his grin with another sip of wine. Poor Erwin. It had to be frustrating, working so hard to help the Wardens, who didn't care at all. But after all they had gone through... so what if Loghain dined with some silly Bann? Let the fools enjoy their lives... for a little bit longer. He had it coming, anyway. Or that the First Warden still didn't reply to any of half dozen letters Erwin had sent him in the name of the Ferelden Wardens. They were doing fine without him, no?

"You should also know, Your Highness, that I arranged the transfer of Lady Goldanna and her children to safety," Erwin calmly continued. "She was under Loghain's supervision, and I didn't want to risk the chance that he would capture her and use her against you. She's staying with Bann Delton."

"I never even thought about that," Alistair admitted, embarrassed. "Maker, I don't know what I'd do if they were hurt because of me! Thank you, Erwin. I owe you."

Airam frowned. "Erwin. Are you in danger, for helping me?" he asked softly, staring at his friend. "I don't-"

"-have to worry," Erwin cut in, with a grin. "Loghain knows about me, but he thinks I'm just Arl Eamon's puppet. And he's not ready to face Arl Eamon yet. The Guerrins have strong support among the nobles, and Loghain doesn't want to escalate things until he's sure of his victory. And I don't intend to wait here until then. When you leave for Redcliffe, I will join you. And we should leave as soon as possible! You realize it's been _months_ since I saw Daria? I want to be with her, when the baby comes!"

"Then we can go in a few days," Airam said, though he was still frowning at his friend. "We don't have much to do. We need to deal with Marjolaine–you got my message?"

"Yes. Lady Laurine La Tremoille is the guest of the Arl Bryland. It won't be easy to get to her."

Leliana snorted. "She, La Tremoille? How ridiculous. Why not the Empress herself?"

"Better think how we'll get to her," Airam pointed out.

"No need to worry. Zev and I can easily take care of that... if Zev agrees to help, of course."

"Anything for you, my dear woman."

"Anything else?"

"Well, we need to ask the Chantry if they can send someone to Orzammar–I think you should do that, Leli. And... Zerlinda, could you go, too?"

Zerlinda was still anxious around humans, especially around Erwin–as if she expected that the tall man would tear down the sky and slam it on her head. When Airam turned to her, she almost jumped off her chair.

"I will do all I can to help you, Warden," she said with a nervous bow, "but–but I wouldn't like to go back to Orzammar…"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that!" Airam assured her. "It's just that, you know, if you go too, and take little Gabrus with you, the Sisters would be more friendly and willing to help. Tell them how much brother Burkel helped when you were treated horribly because of the dwarven pagan traditions–no offence, of course, Faren, it's just the sob story for the Chantry."

"None taken, boss," Faren said with a wide grin. "I agree."

"I see his manipulation skills have further improved," said Erwin, nudging Zev in the elbow. "Your work, I assume?"

"Ah, you flatter me. No, that is entirely his own skill and effort."

"Can I go, too?" Dagna asked, full of enthusiasm. "I heard the Chantry protects the mages, I would love to–"

"No," said Airam, Erwin and Morrigan in the equally adamant tone. She hung her head, but didn't protest.

"It would be very boring for you, anyway. Instead, Jowan and Carroll can give you a tour around the city," Erwin said in milder tone.

"And Faren can go with you," Zevran added with a naughty wink to the young dwarf, who seemed quite happy with this solution.

Erwin looked around the room. "Anything else? Good. Then I say we should start tomorrow. And don't think you'll have free time, Air. There's much you need to learn–and Your Highness, as well. The real work starts now."

"What real work?" Airam sounded almost scared. "I thought all that was left was to defeat the horde and the Archdemon!"

Before Erwin could explain, Sten nodded. "That is right. We need to fight and end the Blight. The endless quarrels of nobles are not our business."

"True," Erwin agreed. "But that you gathered few allies doesn't mean you have an army. It would be different, perhaps, if they were all one race and one nation... But you have humans, Dalish, dwarves; you have mages and Templars; you have noble knights and casteless... You need to give them a proper armour and weapons, sure, but more importantly, you need to unite them and motivate them fight as one, for one goal."

Airam stared at his friend as if he had suddenly changed into a broodmother. "How in the Void am I supposed to unite and motivate soldiers?" he burst out . "What does it even mean?"

"The same way you do it with your companions."

"I never did anything like that."

"Of course you do," Leliana said with reassuring smile.

"I do? How?" he demanded.

_By being your adorable crazy self._ No, it wouldn't be wise to say that aloud. "By your kindness and determination. And don't sneer at me. I meant it. If you weren't a good leader, I wouldn't be following you, no?"

Airam opened his mouth, no doubt to say some cheeky retort, but Sten was faster. "I agree," he said, and that silenced all Airam's protests.

"You... do?"

"We all do," Leliana said, looking around at each of them, but nobody protested. Airam was embarrassed... but also quite pleased. He literally swelled with pride, his back straight, head tilted back–Zevran chuckled inwardly at the sight. Yes, he had grown, as a leader.

"All right, then," Airam said, "but I still don't know how I should unite the soldiers."

"Oh don't worry, we trust you to think of something," Alistair assured him, and they all laughed.

Airam sighed. "Why do I have feeling I've been tricked?"

oOo

The next few days were quite busy.

Leliana was meeting with a few of the allied noble ladies who she hoped would help to convince the Chantry. The noble ladies liked the idea, as it made them look like devoted Andrastians while costing nothing, and were quite willing to become patrons of poor heathens in Orzammar. And, just as Airam expected, a cute little dwarven baby with a tragic fate, abandoned by cruel grandparents due to pagan traditions was a huge help as well. Zerlinda soon became the main star of tea parties, and could choose from several offers for a new home. But Erwin advised her to stay with the Wardens, during the Blight–he didn't trust the nobles and was sure that once she stopped being an exotic novelty, they would abandon her.

That meant that trying to find a way how to deal Marjolaine was on Zevran. He spent several days, masked as an ordinary elven servant, sneaking around her and trying to find out any weakness, any opening they could use to get to her. But it seemed she was well aware of danger and made sure she was always accompanied by young Habren and guards. Breaking into the mansion was out of question, too–it would be too risky for the Wardens

That morning, as he watched her during the divine service in the Chantry, sitting among nobles, only one row behind the Teyrn, he suddenly realized the solution. He was proud of himself of how brilliant it was, and embarrassed that he didn't figure out something that simple much earlier. Marjolaine was an Orlesian spy, yes? And here was the man who hated anything Orlesian. Why dirty their hands, when they can let their enemies eliminate each other?

He returned to Erwin's mansion in quite a good mood. He washed out the makeup covering his tattoos and changed from servant drags–he still felt relief every time he could put them off again. Humming under his breath, he went to find Leliana and others to discuss his proposal. He had gone maybe two steps, when the butler found him, and said that the others were in the winter garden and asked him to follow. Most curious, no?

There were only Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan in there looking oddly doleful and hushed. The others were still out, but Airam should have been here. What was going on? All his inner alarms were set off–something was wrong. _Where is Air?_

"Airam is not here?" he asked leisurely.

"He's having a row with his visitor," Morrigan informed him.

"I think it's his father," Alistair added when he saw his questioning look. "The man is his spit image. Or vice versa. Well, you know."

Did his father survive the slaughter, somehow? And if so, why didn't he contact Airam earlier? Airam said his family was dead and Zevran didn't doubt his words. Airam wouldn't lie, not about something like this. It was suspicious–maybe even a trap–

"Where's Erwin?" he asked.

As if answering his call, the door opened and in walked Erwin and Wynne, arguing.

"That is enough from you, Wynne! I will _not_ deny him this chance!" Erwin snapped.

"And what about Airam? Did it ever occur to you that this might hurt him?" Wynne snapped back.

"Nonsense! It's about time they met–"

" –I don't see why, Airam was quite happy without him–"

" –yeah, like you know anything about it– "

" –and the old fool obviously didn't miss him, either, or he would–"

Zevran had enough. "_Basta!_" he shouted. "So Airam's father survived the slaughter?" he asked, when they both furiously spun to him.

"No, he–" Erwin started, then narrowed his eyes. "Wait. How do you know about it?"

"About what? What slaughter? What are you talking about?" Alistair demanded, but no one bothered to answer.

"Airam told me. If it's not his father, who is it?"

"Airam told you? He never told anyone before. Not even Jowan," Erwin said. "Though I don't think he'd be happy to know you told everyone."

"He didn't tell us anything," Alistair protested. "And I think we have right to know-"

"No, you don't," Erwin snapped so fiercely Alistair twitched. "If he wants to tell you about his past, he will, like he told Zevran."

Wynne sighed irritably. "Airam lost his parents before he came to the Tower, Alistair. The man he's meeting now is his grandfather. And I must say again, that I disagree with this meeting!"

"But why?" asked Leliana, bewildered. "It is his family, no? I would've think you would be glad that they met."

"Normally I would," Wynne agreed, "but he is-"

"The second best mage in Ferelden!" Erwin cut in.

Zevran frowned. "I don't understand," he said. "Could you stop bitching for a moment and explain it?"

Wynne and Erwin glared at each other, then Erwin nodded. "Of course. Please forgive me, I forgot my manners for a moment. _Dear_ Wynne, would you please sit down and have some tea?"

"Thank you," she said courtly, before sitting down. Erwin poured her a cup of tea and pushed a tray of cookies in front of her. "Please, have some cookies. Or all of them. And in the meantime, I will answer the question of my other guest."

She wanted to say something, but he ignored her. "Now then, Zevran. How much do you know about Fereldan history? Specifically, about the Rebellion against Orlais?"

"Only the basic facts," he shrugged. "Bad Orlesians occupied Ferelden–no offence, Leliana–and then Maric organized a rebellion, and after a few years he won and became a king himself, no?"

"None taken," she said with a smile. "I lived most of my life in Orlais, but my mother was Fereldan. I am proud at what King Maric managed to do. Even Orlesians consider him a hero. He fought against impossible odds, and won. Just like a romantic hero, no?"

"Yes, Maric was a great man," Erwin confirmed, smiling at Alistair. "But he didn't fight alone. There were many at his side... mages included. Four of them especially earned extra glory for themselves. After the war, when asked for a reward, all they asked for was freedom from the Tower–and King Maric granted their wish. It meant that although still under the command of the First Enchanter, they could live outside of the Tower and even have a family; as long as they stayed at the place they chose for living, they were under special protection of the king."

"Maric should have never agreed to that," Wynne said.

"Have another cookie, Wynne dear," Erwin said sweetly. "Two of the four left Ferelden a few years back, and the rumours say they went to Tevinter and became magisters. The third one is already dead–and you met his family."

"Shale's previous owner," Zevran muttered.

"Exactly. And the last one of the four was elven mage, Aadishwara Surana, Airam's grandfather."

"Adi-what?" Alistair blurted out.

"Aadishwara. It's in some ancient language and it means Supreme Being. Fits him well, too," Erwin explained with a chuckled. "He was from a family of apostates, who joined the Rebellion because he was a good patriot; it cost him his older son and a wife. After it ended, all he wanted was to return to his peaceful life in the Brecilian forest, together with his younger son. But Maric asked him to stay in Denerim, and, because he was a patriot and a loyal fool, he agreed. He regrets that decision almost every day."

Erwin shot Alistair a pointed look. "He says Maric failed him and betrayed his friendship," he said. "You see, he was as close to a court mage as Ferelden ever had. That earned him the King's favour, sure–but also many enemies. There were many people who didn't like that a mage, and an elf, to that, held such a high position. As if he ever wanted it! You see, he's much like Airam–stubborn, proud, uninhibited... and an eternal child," he chuckled fondly.

"He hated the court, intrigues and false smiles of nobles. But the real problems started when his son married–another elf mage. It was allowed by the king, but the Chantry and the Templars and their ass-kissers were against it."

"It's not that simple," Wynne protested, but Erwin ignored her.

"Sickened by all that spite, young Alim decided to move back to Surana's old house in the Brecilian forest."

"Didn't you say they were allowed to stay out of the Tower only if they stayed at one place?" Leliana asked.

"I said they were protected if they stayed in the place they chose for living," Erwin corrected her. "And, as Aadishwara pointed to Maric, _he_ chose his house in the forest. He only stayed in Denerim because Maric invited him, he argued. Maric agreed, but the Chantry did not. They declared the young Suranas apostates. However, Maric forbade the hunt, and, for a few years, all was fine."

"So my father protected his family. Why did you say he failed them?" Alistair asked.

"Because he did. A few years after that, Maric sent him on a mission. Very important stuff, he'd go there himself, if he could, and so on and so on. And he once again obeyed his king–and never stopped blaming himself for it. Because when he returned, it was all done, and Airam was already in the Tower."

"What do you–but you said–you mean they _killed_ them? The Templars killed them?"

"Well done, Alistair, I'm so proud of you," Zevran snapped at the shocked Chantry boy; it was about time he saw the whole ugly truth about the Templars. "But couldn't he try to get Airam out of the Tower?" he turned back to Erwin.

"He did. And that's where Maric failed him. He said he couldn't vouch for Airam, that the relationship with the Chantry was too tense and he couldn't afford to push them further than he did, things like that. And to add insult to injury, Greagoir refused to allow any exceptions in communication; he said it would be better for the boy not to be reminded of the previous life, so he could get used to a 'life of a normal mage' more easily. That were the exact words in his reply to Aadishwara and Maric. 'Life of a normal mage'. For years, he only had very little news about his grandson, when Irving sent him a letter, or if some of the mages got out of the Tower."

"Greagoir did the right thing," Wynne said. "Whatever you might think of him, it was not his fault that Airam had to stay in the Tower. The Grand Cleric in Denerim had decided that. And once it was decided, it would be much more difficult for him, if he was constantly reminded of a life he had to abandon. It may seem harsh, but he had always had Airam's best interest in mind."

Zevran had his doubts about that, but he decided not to comment it. "But Airam always speaks fondly of the First Enchanter... I would think Irving at least would be willing to..."

"Irving _is_ a good man," Erwin agreed. "He has always been very kind to the apprentices and mages in his care, and tries to be a second father to them... but don't expect too much from him. All that freedom, glory, family... why _he_ was shut in the Tower... who wouldn't be envious? He's still just a human, after all. And, those letters he sent, both to Air's grandpa and to me, were a risky business for him. If the Templars of the Chantry had found out, he would be in a big trouble. A repeated violation of one of the basic rules regarding mages in the Tower, by someone in such a high position... the Grand Cleric could demand the Tranquility Rite."

Zevran suddenly remembered something. "You know, when we were in the Tower, and Airam met Greagoir again, he said Airam was always as arrogant as his–but he never finished as who, because Airam stopped him. So he meant this Adi-rash-wash-whatever?"

"Aadishwara, Zevran. Yes, he probably meant him."

"And let me guess–the crazy old guy Ignacio mentioned was also him, yes?"

"Who's Ignacio?" Alistair asked.

Erwin smiled. "Yes. He was often sent to important missions, and met all kinds of guys during his travels. Including the Crows. Which doesn't mean he's a villain," he addressed the last part to Wynne, whose lips were pursed into an unattractive wiggly line. "Besides, it wasn't as if he could refuse a king's order, right?"

"But you said he was only the second best mage in Ferelden," Morrigan pointed out. "Why not send the best one?"

"Because at that time, the best mage was imprisoned in the Tower."

"You mean the First Enchanter?" Alistair asked.

Erwin smirked. "No, I mean _me, _of course. And if you don't believe me, just ask any of the mentors in the Tower who has the most brilliant mind ever, and they'll tell you-"

A hearty laugh made them all turn to the door. "He's such a Humble Hero, our Erwin."

For a brief moment, Zevran wasn't sure if he wasn't seeing double. Then both figures stepped from the door into the brightly lit lounge, and the illusion was gone.

But they were spit image of each other, and he could see why Alistair had thought it was Airam's father. Even for an elf, the guy was very well looking. Slightly taller than Airam, and with firmer built, but with the same dark violet hair, tied in a loose plait, leisurely hang over his left shoulder, and with many unruly strands fluttering around his face; same sparkling purple eyes, same milky white skin, and, most of all, grinning in the same cheeky way as Airam usually did.

Right now there wasn't the slightest hint of smile on Airam's face. He gave them a brief glance, then walked to one of the armchairs and sat down. "Oh, cookies," he said, "that's good, I'm quite hungry," and started chewing on one, carefully avoiding their looks.

Meanwhile his older version–Rashwash, was it?–was standing in the middle of the room, flashing brilliant white smiles all around. "You must be Airam's friends. I'm so glad to finally meet you in person."

They introduced themselves, and grandpa Rashwash tried to start conversation a few times, but with Airam still ignoring them–sans a few deadly glares, if anyone mentioned him–it always died very quickly. After a while the grandpa gave up.

"Well, then. I better go. I still have a lot of things to do, and I'm sure you're busy, too. But I hope to see you soon again. You are all invited for a dinner in my humble house, on a Friday night." He looked at Airam. "Please, come."

There was no reply and, with a last glance and silent sigh, the man was gone.

Everyone immediately started firing questions and comments at Airam. How great it was that he could meet his family! What were they talking about so long? How could he be so cold towards him? Zevran couldn't help grinning. Airam was heroically trying to ignore them, but it couldn't last long.

"Enough," burst Airam. A_h. There it is. Who will be frozen this time? It could be Wynne, for a change._

"Everyone shut up and look at my face," he ordered. Confused, they stopped talking and did as he said. "Now. Does it perhaps seem to you that I'm in a talkative mood? In a good mood? Or in a friendly mood? No? I didn't think so. So why don't you just leave me be?" He got up and with the last indignant glare, marched out of the room, pretending he didn't hear Wynne's scolding.

Zevran took the tray with cookies and the teapot. "I'll see if I can bring our dear leader back to talkative, good and friendly mood, yes?" he asked merrily.

"Yes, I think you should," say Wynne. "You are the only one he listens to, lately."

It was obviously meant as a rebuke, but Zevran decided to take it as a compliment.

oOo

Airam was lying on his bed, arms behind his head, trying hard to look relaxed and indifferent. Zevran smirked and put the cookies and tea on the table. "You said you were hungry, so I brought this for you," he said casually.

No reply.

"Or would you like to get some sleep? Shall I leave you alone?"

"Zev. Just ask it."

"Ask what, _bello mio_?"

"Whatever it is you want to ask me," Airam snapped. "It's something about that old fool, right?"

"Should I assassinate him?"

"No!" Airam sat up and stared at him with wide eyes. "What kind of question is that?"

That worked better than he expected. "Ah. I am glad to hear that. I do not think I would wish to assassinate someone who looks like you that much."

Airam laughed. "Maker, Zev. You almost got me there."

"I meant it, Air. If you wish him dead, it's enough to tell me–it is, after all, my area of expertise, no? If he annoys you–or if you think he had anything to do with what happened…"

"Of course not! He's my grandpa. My Dad was his son, he would never do something like that."

"No? If you say it, it is good enough for me. But I saw many grandfathers willing to kill their children, and many children who didn't want to wait for years to become heirs of their parents' property."

"I see. But grandpa didn't do anything like that. He's annoying, but selling my Dad to Templars… no, I can't imagine that. No, Zev. The only person I can blame for what happened is me."

"Actually, I wanted to talk about that–from the _professional_ point of view, yes? If you don't mind."

"What do you mean, professional?"

Zevran sat down next to Airam. "As an assassin. See, there are a few points in your story that are not clear to me. Would you mind answering few questions? Nothing personal, I promise. Just a few… technical details, so to say. Yes?"

"All right," Airam said hesitantly. "Ask what you want, but I might not be able to answer everything."

"Fair deal. Well now, let's see… you said you ran away after the argument… but how far did you run? How long? For minutes? Hours? Would you say you went very far away from your house, or was it still relatively near?"

Airam frowned, thinking about it for a moment. "I'm not sure… but it definitely wasn't _hours_. I don't know! But… I don't think it was too far. Half an hour of walk, maybe."

"I see. And you said that you got out to the main road, yes? Do you mean you got out of the forest completely?"

"No, of course not! That would take days!" Airam laughed, but then his shoulders slumped, and his voice quivered, when he continued. "We lived deep in the forest, see. A few times a year Dad would go to buy few things we couldn't provide by ourselves or from the Dalish, and sometimes he'd take me with him. It always took two or three weeks, till we got back."

"So what was that 'main road' you mentioned?"

"It was the road the Dalish used with their aravels. Sometimes I'd hide myself in trees and watch them pass, in the long, colourful line, it was so pretty. Mel, she... she also..." he blinked and turned away.

Zevran patiently waited till Airam calmed down a bit. "One last question, _bello mio_, yes?" he asked. "Now, when you met the Templars..." he continued, when Airam nodded, "had they noticed you, or did you do something that attracted their attention? Like a wrong step, breaking branches under your feet, things like that. Do you remember?"

"Yes. That I remember. Very clearly. I got out on the road and I saw them coming my way."

"And was that normal occurrence, five Templars on the Dalish road, deep in the forest? Was that something that happened every day?"

Airam stared at him. "I don't know for sure, but... I think not, no. I'd never seen any there before, that's for sure. Dad showed me the Templars in the villages, so I knew what they looked like, but I'd never seen any in the forest, until that day."

"I thought so," Zevran said, and smiled. "Think about it, Air. Five Templars, deep in the forest, walking towards you–_walking towards the path that led to your house_."

"What are you saying, Zev?" Airam whispered.

"I think you know already, Air," he said gently. "It wasn't a coincidence. They were coming to get you–your whole family. If they hadn't caught you, it would have only taken them bit longer. Maybe for a few hours, or, in best case for a day or two. But they would have found you. What happened was not your fault. It was the fault of the Chantry, who used the opportunity to hunt your family while your grandpa was out of the way. And, probably of someone who knew where they lived and sold them out to the Templars."

Airam shook his head. "Maybe, but even so... if they didn't have me, my parents would have fought them. They surrendered, because the Templars had me as a hostage."

"Forgive me, but as an assassin I do not think it was that big difference," he said firmly. "I have no doubt that your parents were both amazing mages, but there were only two of them. And they wouldn't be able to focus solely on the Templars–they would have to protect you and your sister, too. Against five Templars, who were probably in berserk mode because of lyrium withdrawal, no better than rabid beasts out of the killing..."

He stopped when he saw the look at Airam's face. He put an arm around him, and held him as close as he dared; he could feel Airam was shivering slightly.

"I never thought of it like this before," Airam whispered.

"That's normal. It's too sensitive for you to be detached enough to see things clearly."

"It's not my fault–not fully?"

Zevran's heart ached at wary hope in Airam's voice. "It's not your fault at all."

"Do you think..." Airam paused, biting his lip. "Do you think that... he... that he would also... that he wouldn't hate me? If he found out?... Do you think he could forgive me?"

Ah. He should have known. "Your grandpa? Erwin says he's a clever guy, and that he always cared about you. I'm sure he never blamed you at all."

"But I–I helped the Templars to..."

"No you did _not_," he said firmly. "And if anyone dares to say so, I will assassinate them, yes?"

Finally, Airam was smiling again. "You're the best Zev, you know that?"

"Naturally," he grinned. "So. What would you like to do now? Brooding here or by yourself, or–"

"Going down for a _proper_ dinner," Airam said. "What? You didn't think few cookies would be enough, did you?"


	24. Appearances

No, I'm not dead. And I didn't abandon this story. Zevran would never allow me to do that. It's his story and he insist to have it finished. :D But I have some real life issues, and can't write as much as I'd love to. So big thanks to all my readers who still have patience with me. :)

And huge hug to my dear friend Seika, for her help! :D

* * *

**Appearances**

"Your eyes are... like shimmering azure orbs of hope in the grey sky of my life," said the young Bann Maelon, which made Lady Habren seductively wink with said orbs several times.

At least Zevran assumed it was _supposed_ to be a seductive wink. Ah, these two were too adorable together. He almost hoped Loghain's men would be late; this was too much fun to watch.

All of the things they had to do in Denerim were finished; the ship was already loaded and waiting in the port. They could leave at any moment. But, Leliana wanted to be sure that Marjolaine would really be captured. They had made sure Loghain found out who Lady Tremoille really was; their informant had sent them a message stating that she would be arrested today, after she left the Chantry. Loghain suspected that Bann Bryland had cooperated with her and wanted to arrest them separately.

Zevran didn't think it was such a clever idea; it would give Marjolaine plenty of opportunities for escape. They all saw how incompetent Loghain's men were. So, when Leliana suggested that they should help a bit with Marjolaine's arrest, in secret, of course, he supported her. The bard was too cunning and dangerous, and she had already managed to track them down and sent her mercenaries to attack them. With the Crows, Loghain's men, and darkspawn all trying to get them, it would be nice to remove at least this danger once and for all.

They had all of the possible escape routes under control; Morrigan was supervising the whole situation from the roof, transformed into a pigeon. That was the easy part. The bigger problem was how to remove Lady Habren from Marjolaine; Leliana had warned them that her former boss wouldn't hesitate to use the girl as a hostage, or even a meat shield. Habren always had a guard following her, but that wouldn't help much against Marjolaine. From what little they found out about Habren, she was an annoying, spoiled brat who enjoyed humiliating her elven servants and tormenting puppies… but who bought all new Orlesian romances the moment they were published.

And so the young Bann Maelon was born. At first, Leliana had suggested Alistair, but the Chantry boy blushed at the very idea of flirting with a young girl and stuttered so badly that it was quickly rejected as a very bad idea. Airam wasn't exactly happy about it either–until Leliana pointed out that he would have to be masked.

It took three and half hours to mask him properly, but the result was stunning. With his skin slightly darker, black curls cleverly covering the tips of his ears, and dressed in rich and extravagant style of his grandpa, he looked like a princeling cut straight from one of the romances Habren loved so much. The only thing that couldn't be masked were his purple eyes; but Leliana wasn't too worried. It would require someone who knew Airam well, or someone really clever, to recognise Airam. Fifteen year old Habren was neither. Why would she care about the eye colour of a dirty knife-ear who was her father's enemy?

And, she was right. When Airam appeared in the Chantry, Habren stopped caring about the ceremony and openly stared at him. When the ceremony ended, and the Revered Mother pulled Marjolaine away for a talk–Zevran suspected it was part of Loghain's plan–Airam did the same with Habren. A few poetic compliments later, and they were out of the Chantry, walking around the stands at the market. Leliana had also prepared a detailed back story, with all the names and dates and details; but as far as Zevran could see, Habren was still too much of a child to care for that. A few anecdotes from his "travels", sweet compliments and a roll of cotton candy, and she would let Airam to take her wherever he wanted. The guard was trotting behind them, but didn't seem worried at all. If Airam had been an assassin, she would be dead before that fool could even pull his sword out. Zevran felt almost sorry for the girl.

But now Loghain was coming, with Bann Bryland, the Orlesian Ambassador and several guards. The Bann looked shocked and embarrassed, but walked freely. It seemed he was somehow able to prove his innocence to Loghain. They were just entering the yard of the Chantry, when the Bann noticed Habren with Airam.

"Habren!" he shouted strictly, and it seemed he wanted to go to her, but Loghain grabbed his arm.

She turned. Zevran heard her gasping. "_Papa?_ Why would he come to the Chantry, when the ceremony is over already? I should go see what is happening."

"Please wait, my lady," Airam said, holding her hand. "Teyrn Loghain is there as well, and the Orlesian Ambassador. It must be an official business with the Chantry. I do not think they would be glad if we interrupted now."

"I was introduced to Teyrn Loghain," she snapped haughtily. "I doubt he would object to my presence."

"Nobody would object your presence, my lady. It would be like objecting the presence of sun on the sky," Airam quickly assured her. "But, they would be angry with me. I am sure your father would forbid you to meet me ever again. Please, do not condemn me to such a cruel fate. It would be more merciful to kill me right here!"

Zevran barely suppressed the chuckle at the tragic look on Airam's face. Habren, however, was one step from melting into a pink puddle.

"I do not wish that," she assured him, blushing.

Airam kissed her hand–oh, this was getting better and better–and steered her away from the Chantry. Their cooing didn't escape the attention of several noble ladies on the market. If their indignant glares were any sign, the next few days would be quite interesting for the Brylands. Perhaps Habren's _papa_ would finally get some sense and start guarding her properly.

A few minutes later, the Chantry gate opened, and Marjolaine, Loghain and others filed out. At first sight it seemed the Teyrn was taking her for a walk, offering her an arm; Loghain apparently didn't want a public scandal. Zevran was impressed. Perhaps Loghain wasn't as incompetent as they had suspected–perhaps it was them who were too awesome for Loghain. In any way, it seemed the danger was over.

In the nearest empty alley, he dissolved into the shadows, hid his weapons, and strode back to the two love birds. He wasn't dressed as a servant, he was wearing his old leathers, but Habren still looked down her nose at him.

"Who is this elf, Maelon? He's disgraceful! Send him away."

"He is my bodyguard," Airam said coldly and turned to him. "What do you want?"

"I beg your pardon, young Master, but your grandfather has sent me for you," he said, as agreed. "He insists that you return with me without delay."

Airam was so crestfallen, so desperate, that Habren had to swear this was not the last time they met, and that tomorrow she would definitely introduce him to her papa, who would undoubtedly be as charmed with him as she was. Bit longer, and she'd probably announce their engagement. After a long good-bye, which left the girl teary-eyed, Zevran finally dragged Airam away.

"Thank Maker you came," Airam said as they hurried to the Erwin's house. "I don't think I could have stood it much longer."

"Truly? I thought her shimmering azure orbs-" Airam moaned, but he mercilessly continued, "were the only hope on the grey sky of your life?"

"Something tells me you're not going to drop it any time soon." Airam sighed. "At least don't mention it to the others. Please?"

"Ah, but it would be a crime, to keep such a discovery to myself! Your talent for comedy dell' arte is marvellous. If you ever get tired of the life of a Grey Warden–now that those shimmering orbs are out of it again–I could arrange a place in one of the _compagnia_ for you. Travelling around the country, performing your art in public; it would be a wonderful life, no?"

"Zevran. Mention those shimmering orbs again, and you'll spend our last day in Denerim as a work of art. Shimmering and _cold_."

"Such cruel threats! Surely you wouldn't freeze your humble admirer, _maestro_?"

Airam huffed and quickened his step, muttering something under his breath.

oOo

They were the first to return to the mansion. Airam hurried to their room, determined to take off the mask before the others returned, hoping that it would help him avoid all the teasing. It was a useless effort, if he asked Zevran. But he didn't, and Zevran didn't have heart to tell him.

But, all the urgency to return to his normal self evaporated the moment the door of their room closed behind them. Airam stopped in front of the mirror, silently scowling at his reflection for a moment, before he put off the wig and tossed it on the bed. His hair was sweaty and flattened to his head, which didn't do much to improve his mood. He irritably ran his hand through it.

Zevran couldn't watch it any more. "You look much better without that thing, _bello mio_."

"Of course I do. How silly of me to want to have normal hair," Airam snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Normal and perfectly forgettable. There are thousands of such young men around Thedas. " He stood next to Airam, wrapping his arm around Airam's shoulders. "You are unique."

"Other people call it freak," Airam muttered.

Zevran snorted. "Other _Fereldans_," he corrected him. "I am sorry to say so, but your country folk are crude and blind to beauty. Do not listen to them. If you want a true assessment of your looks, listen only to me. Yes?"

Finally, that scowl disappeared from Airam's face. "I see! I look great, it's just that the others are too stupid and blind to get it!"

"With a few clever exceptions that have eyes to see, such as me, yes."

Their eyes met in the mirror and they laughed. "Zev, I wanted to ask you-" Airam began, but then a pointed cough interrupted them.

It was Airam's grandfather, leaning against the door frame with a stiff smile. "Erwin would like to have a word with you, Air," he said, glaring at Zevran.

Zevran watched as Airam muttered a slightly disappointed excuse and walked out as quickly as possible without looking too guilty. His grandfather was still leaning on the door frame.

"You wished something from me, ser?" Zevran asked.

Airam's grandfather regarded him for a moment, then stepped forward and extended his arm. "Call me Shwara, please."

"Zevran," he replied politely, noticing that the old man had rather firm grip, for his age.

"I'd like to ask you a personal question, if you don't mind," Shwara said in a business like voice.

"Oh? This should be good. Ask away. What would you like to know?" he replied with a chuckle, the way he would reply to a nosy brat.

Usually, other people would get a clue and mutter an apology or ask something banal. But it had no effect on this man.

"I've been curious, you know. During my life, I met many Crows. Some were fools, some were monsters, and some were almost bearable. But I've never met one that would drop their mission after the first failure. They would sometimes pretend they dropped it, and then strike when their mark least expected it. I want to know why should I believe you're different."

All of it was true, no point to argue with it. And yet... to hear it from someone who looked so much like Air... He forced laugh. "Well, perhaps I'm one of those fools, no? Too inept to kill the famous Grey Wardens; just a little bit better than a grandmother attacking them with her stick, I was told."

"Do not play fool with me, assassin."

Ah. Erwin may have been the one who taught Airam to glare, but that scary voice that sent chills all the way to the toes was apparently inherited.

"I don't doubt you could have killed my grandson a hundred times by now. Yet, you did not. I want to know why. I want to know what you want from him. What is your game?"

Zevran shrugged. "Airam saved my life. I am merely repaying my debt. Or should I kill my benefactor just because that's expected behaviour for a Crow?"

"I know I'm being rude," the old man said, still scowling, "and I don't care. The only thing I care about is my grandson. I already lost him once; I will not risk it again. Do you understand, assassin? If I get the slightest suspicion that you want to hurt him..."

Yes... yes, he did understand. In truth, it would have been much more suspicious if grandpa Rashwash wasn't worried that one of the companions of his only grandson was a Crow. This man wasn't his enemy. He was only worried for Airam. It endeared the man to Zevran again.

"Airam saved my life and set me on a new path. I cannot change my past, but I do not wish to return to it. Airam is in no danger from me."

"For your own sake, I hope you're not lying," the old guy muttered. "And don't forget. I'm always watching you."

A wide, lecherous smile spread on his face. "Truly? And do you like what you see? Then next time, do not hide. I will bare my deepest secrets for you yes?"

Before the old guy could reply there was an amused chuckle from the door. "Zevran. I can't unhear that. But... should I leave you two alone a bit longer, then?"

Exasperated, Zevran turned to Airam. "You know, _bello mio_, I think you and your grandpa _both_ really need to learn to knock."

oOo

Airam's grandpa brought the message from his contacts in the court. Nothing Marjolaine said could convince Loghain that she wasn't a spy sent by the Orlesians. She was declared guilty and executed. Leliana received the message with a calm smile at her face, but Zevran wasn't fooled. She mourned a woman who had never loved her. Marjolaine had betrayed her, wanted to kill her, made her suffer; it was a wise decision, to use the help of the Wardens to get rid of her. And yet she regretted it. He sighed and shook his head. It was too confusing.

oOo

When he first heard that Airam's grandpa had insisted on hiring the ship for Redcliffe, arguing that he was too old to skitter around the country with a bunch of kids, Zevran was thrilled. He hadn't been on a boat since the short trip from Redcliffe to the Tower back in... Cloudreach? It seemed unbelievable that it was only eight months ago. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Back then, it was also cold and wet, but you would get this feeling... of life, waiting to begin. Now it was just cold and wet, the endless streams of rain washing away the last bits of the most persistent colour in Ferelden–the muddy brown, changing it into dull, depressing grey. Soon the winter would start, and the river would be unnavigable; Zevran would not miss it in slightest.

It was impossible to stay at the board and, after few day of crouching in those tiny, smelly cabins, he had to admit to himself that he missed walking. And camping. Only their little group, without all these nosy grandpas, genius friends and other fools that were constantly making demands on the time of the Warden Commander. Their time together was once again reduced to one hour of training and sparring; the annoying old guy had asked him if he wouldn't mind to share a cabin with Alistair and Sten. He had a lot of catching up to do, he said. How could Zevran reject that? He could not.

A door creaked, the handle moving down, but it did not open. Crows? He pulled out his daggers. Maybe they had disguised themselves as the crew. Oh well, at least he would have the opportunity to test his new poisons, yes? It was the only entertainment he had, during these last few days.

The next moment, Airam stumbled in, carrying a suit of armour. "Zev–be so kind?"

He quickly sheathed the daggers again and hurried to help Airam.

"Still afraid of the Crows? Don't worry Zev, I won't let them have you," the boy said with a chuckle.

"Ah, now that's something different. If you keep watching over me, I have nothing to fear, yes?"

"Precisely_. _Especially once you wear _this_." He nodded to the armour.

Glorious; that was the only word that came to his mind, as he checked and admired it. Silverite and obsidian, made with great skill and precision, and an almost poetic eye for detail. And with the Warden crest on the chest plate. He looked at Airam. "For me?"

"Yes. From my grandpa. He had ordered new armour for all of us–all looking the same like this one, except mine has a bit different crest, and Alistair's has Theirin coat of arms. I'm sorry for that crest, I didn't know about this... Grandpa did it, because he says people think you're all Wardens and that it would be better to keep it that way."

"No need to be sorry. I agree, it's a good idea," Zevran agreed.

"You know, Zev, I've been thinking–not that I want to force you, of course, you're a free man and you know I'd never make you do anything you don't want, you can go whenever you like-"

Watching Airam squirm in embarrassment was fun, but he didn't like this talk about leaving. "Air. What are you talking about?"

Airam sighed. "I… you said the Crows would never stop hunting you… and I, well, I think you'd be safer if you stayed with the Wardens. If you'd want to, we'd be happy to have you–as an associate, of course, I don't want, nor would I ever let you, to take the Joining."

Zevran's fingers closed on the armour so strongly his knuckles turned white. How long he had wanted to ask Airam if he could stay, even after the Blight is over… but he had never found the courage.

"But–but of course you don't have to," Airam hurried to add. "You're a free man, Zev and can, and should, do whatever you think is best; please don't think you have to stay because of me. I–I'll manage. But, if–I mean, you know, if you'd want to, then you'll be more than welcome..." His voice trailed off; the most adorable blush spread over his ears and face, and he quickly averted his eyes.

Zevran smiled. "I'd like that. Very much so," he said lightly.

Airam looked at him, as if he wanted to add something–or perhaps he was waiting for Zev to add something. After a moment he smiled, and got up. "That's good, then," he said awkwardly. "I–I need to go, I'll see you later..."

And he fled. Zevran had the unpleasant, irritating feeling that he missed something important.

oOo

The sun was already setting down, when the ship entered Eamon's private port at the castle. As they filed out, all grey-black, they looked quite impressive: badass and bit mystic, Zevran noted with satisfaction. All the inns in Redcliffe would be bursting with people hungry for gossip about the return of their heroes; their arrival could _not_ be anything less than spectacular.

Arl Eamon and his grumpy gang were already waiting on the mole, looking very formal.

"Your Highness," said Eamon with a bow.

"Arl Eamon," Alistair replied just as formally.

Zevran grinned inwardly at Alistair's expression, half dignified–half apologetic. Being a king, however, had its perks. If Alistair decided to dance a remigold, everyone would have to smile and applaud–well, at least in front of him. What would be told behind his back was another thing.

Airam and the rest of them received much colder greetings, though Connor dared to shoot a shy, admiring gaze at Airam, who winked at him in return. Eamon pretended not to notice it.

In the castle, it was the same. Alistair got the royal suite, and Erwin got the suite with his wife, but the rest of them had to settle with ordinary rooms; Farren got a little and dark cubicle. Only after Alistair's intervention was he moved to a proper room, with a rather insincere apology.

The dinner that evening was tense and awkward. Finally, dessert was served–a rather horrid chickpea tart that could only pass a as a desert in this crude, dog stinking country.

"If I may ask, Warden–I was informed your grandfather would honour us with his visit, as well," Eamon asked.

"That can't be," Farren cut in before Airam could reply, "both guys died long before I was born."

Ah, the look on Eamon's face! Priceless. But Zevran was surprised and pleased, to see the smirk on the face of Bann Teagan. Hmm... did they perhaps have a disagreement regarding the Wardens? Intriguing, that.

"I meant ser _Surana_," Eamon said stiffly.

Farren bowed his head in embarrassment. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realize you were talking to the _Commander._"

Zevran was both amused and annoyed. Farren's loyalty to their fearless leader was certainly admirable, but this cheekiness could cause problems that weren't worth it. Especially if Airam would add his own cheeky comment now.

Fortunately, it seemed he didn't have to worry.

"My grandfather went ashore in Clogwyn. He sends his apologies; he had to attend to an urgent business in South first, but will join us in a few days."

"Will he? I am glad to hear that," Eamon said, though he looked more disappointed than glad.

Ah, the stay at this castle would be fun.

oOo

The next day, Erwin took over the initiative–one that Alistair wasn't much happy about: an oath of loyalty. All of the nobles supporting Alistair as a king would express their commitment officially. That would make their position in the Landsmeet more certain. It could have been done in Denerim, Erwin explained, but he thought it would be better if it was organised by the esteemed house of Guerrins, instead of a random guy like him. It was difficult to argue against that, and even Eamon and Teagan agreed that it was a good idea.

To organize an event like that was not an easy task. It would take at least one month till everything is ready. It meant a whole month in this damned place. Zevran expected to become insane by boredom long before that.

But, of course, he forgot about their little fearless leader. Who was to become an official Captain General of the whole army–the army he haven't even seen yet, as he complained. And so, while everyone was busy discussing politics and business, he put on his new fancy Commander armour and sneaked out of the castle. Or, tried to sneak out. Zevran caught up with him as he was crossing the bridge.

"Truly? You thought I'd let you walk out into the danger all alone? What kind of a bodyguard you think I am?"

Airam laughed. "Oh, I'm sure Redcliffe is full of mortal perils and heartless enemies, all waiting just for me. Besides, I'm not a helpless baby. I can take care of myself."

"Who says I'm worried about you? I merely do not wish the atmosphere–both indoor and outdoor even more freezing as it is."

"No need to worry. I have an awesome trainer who taught me to fight even without magic," Airam pointed out with a smile.

"Oh? You seem to be a lucky man, to have so many awesome people around you."

"I am," Airam said. "Now let's go, before someone decides they urgently need me to discuss what kind of soup we should serve to convince the Banns to give us more money."

oOo

Redcliffe was much different than the last time. The soldiers camp was a few miles to the south, and the soldiers would come to the town whenever they could, to have some fun. Naturally, that attracted many merchants from nearby towns and villages. The town, especially the market, was overcrowded, the ground trampled into thick oozy mud, and air was smelling so bad it made his stomach turn.

"Dirty knife-ear! I'll gut you like a frog, you little thief!"

"I paid for it. Get lost before I lose my patience."

Zevran didn't even bother to try stopping Airam, as he elbowed through the crowd to see what was going on.

One of them was a human brute; he could be a soldier, or a common thug. It was hard to tell, from the dirty old leathers he was wearing. The other one was Dalish, with wild tattoo covering most of his face.

"I bet on the elf," he said merrily.

All heads turned to them.

"You called your friends, did you? It won't help. I can kill ten little pigs like you with my fart."

"Please don't," Airam said. "Fart, I mean. This place smells badly as it is."

The crowd snickered. The tug started to curse, but Airam ignored him and turned to the elf. "I'm glad to see that the Dalish have already arrived. Are you from Lanaya's clan?"

"And who are you to care?" the elf snapped, looking Airam up and down.

"I guess that means you're not from Lanaya's clan, then," Airam smiled. "Elves in her clan know me already. I'm Airam Surana, the Warden Commander. Pleasure to meet you."

"Humans would never put an elf in command."

Airam chuckled. "They didn't have much chance. I–"

The thug launched himself at Airam with a knife. But Airam was too fast. He avoided the blow, and the next moment he had his own daggers out. Zevran knew he didn't have to worry; but it would be better if Airam wasn't involved in fights like this. Scum like this were not the business of the Captain General. People needed to learn to respect him.

The man didn't even know what hit him. One second, he was lunging into another attack, the next he was splayed in the mud, to the great amusement of audience. Pathetic.

Before he could get up, Zevran sat on his chest and pressed a dagger to his neck. "I strongly advise against attacking the Warden Commander," he said. "The next person who tries, dies gruesomely. Do you understand?"

If looks could kill... but then he would have been dead years ago. He pressed his dagger harder, until a thin red line appeared on the man's neck. That always had a sobering effect. And it didn't fail this time, either.

"I understand," the man grumbled.

Zevran got off him, watching to make sure he wouldn't change his mind and do anything stupid. But there was no need to worry. Too aware of the sneering and mockery from the crowd, the man was eager to disappear as soon as he could.

With the fun over, the crowd slowly dispersed as well.

"Can I invite you for a drink?" Airam offered. The elf didn't reply at first, but then he nodded. They took him to the Lloyd's tavern, which was now merely one of many. But it seemed Lloyd couldn't complain about business–the place was fuller than ever before. And, as Zevran noted with great pleasure, there was a big poster at the entrance door, which informed the guests that this was the one and only true tavern that hosted the Heroes of Redcliffe.

"Hey, Lloyd!" he called. "What can you offer to old friends?"

Lloyd wasn't exactly jumping with joy when he saw them, but he didn't dare to protest; the consequences of his last attempt were still fresh in his memory, it seemed. Good.

They were taken into Lloyd's private room–everything else was full–and brought the best beer in Redcliffe, as he assured him.

"What do you want from me, Warden Commander?" the elf asked when they were left alone again.

"Nothing," Airam assured him. "I just want to know about the situation here. If things like today happen often, if there are any problems you and other Dalish have, if there is anything you need. I can't fix it if I don't know about it; and the shemlens at the castle won't tell me the ugly truth."

The elf smiled. "That's true. Let me introduce myself first. I'm Rilan Faladel, of the Nardirrin clan. We arrived only a week ago, but we were not first. Some clans were already here before us. The shemlen lord guaranteed that we would be treated with respect, but we didn't really expect him to keep his promise. Shemlens have no sense of honour. "

"You have problems in camp?"

"Not in camp. We have our own camp, and shemlens know better than to come to annoy us. They are only brave when they can outnumber us one to twenty." Rilan smirked derisively. "They're not soldiers, Commander. They are drunkards and brutes. Things like today occur every time one of us needs to come to the town."

"Then why do you come alone? Why don't you come in a bigger group?"

"You speak like a flat- like one of those city elves. To assign a work that can be done by one person to several people is a waste of resources. Dalish don't do that."

"Besides, it wouldn't solve anything," Zevran added. "Humans could feel threatened, and attack them even more."

"Our Keeper said the same thing. I think you should better talk to the Keepers, Commander. They'll be able to tell you much more."

"Yes... I think I should check the situation first-hand," Airam muttered.

Zevran glanced at him. What crazy plan did he have this time? "We should invite the Keepers and commanders of all other units to the castle and talk about it," he suggested.

"Hm... yes, that, too. But I don't think it will be enough. It seems we have a lot of work ahead of us. Well, at least it won't be boring!" Airam said, earning a surprised and bit scornful look from Rilan.

"It seems the Blight is fun, for you," he said.

"Compared to the nobles and their politics? Trust me, it is. Isn't it right, Zev?"

"Naturally," he said.

He was sure Airam already had one of his crazy ideas about what they should do. And in that case, boredom was the last thing to worry about. Oh well. Whatever it was that Airam wanted to do, at least there would be no gruesome monsters involved, like the Broodmother, or the New Andraste. That had to be an improvement... no?


	25. Crossing Swords

Sorry for a long break. I know I repeat this all the time, but I assure you that I DID not abandon the story. What, now? When they're finally getting closer to getting closer? Not likely!

The last chapter was Crossroads, and it's not just because Air and co. are at "crossroads" but also because the story itself is on the crossroad as well - it will be mostly AU from now on. So if you hoped they'll go to the Landsmeet and fight and end it all in a chapter or two, too bad. I'd say we're starting the last third. XD

Thanks to ShebasDawn for her ideas on military camp. And a big hug to my wonderful friend Seika for beta reading it. :D

* * *

**Crossing Swords**

Airam called the meeting of army leaders, humans, elves and dwarves together, in three days. He wanted some time to think about the strategy before he introduced it to everyone else, he explained when Eamon asked about the wait. Zevran was dying of curiosity, but no matter how hard he pestered Airam, the only answer he got was a smirk and sage advice that everything comes to he who waits. Zevran expected Airam would spend those three days in the library–after all, it was a perfect excuse to stay buried neck deep in books.

The next day–if three hours before dawn could be called a day–he woke up to the soft click of the lock at his door. He tensed, but relaxed a bit as he recognized Airam's steps, followed by Rask's panting.

"Zev?" Airam's voice whispered.

"What's wrong?" he whispered back, already out of the bed.

"Nothing, nothing," Airam hastily assured him. "I'm just going... for a walk. Want to come with me?"

For a walk? Zevran lit the candle on the nightstand. Airam was wearing the robe Zevran had given him, plus one of those funny Fereldan fur caps with earlaps – Zevran would rather die than wear that – but no staff or a dagger, and only small pouch tied to his belt. Most curious.

"Why would you want to go for a walk at this hour?"

"Because Morrigan still refuses to teach me how to shapeshift into a bird," Airam snapped. "Are you coming or not?"

"I am coming, naturally," he said, reaching for his leathers. "To the town? Or just a walk in the fields? Come now, there's no one listening here, and I need to know what should I equip."

"To the army camp. I want to see the situation first-hand, and without anyone putting up the show for the sake of the Commander. So I decided to go undercover and to check myself."

"Undercover? Then I better put on servant's clothes instead of leathers, no?"

"You... won't argue with me? You won't tell me it's dangerous and foolish?"

Zevran chuckled at the surprised look at Airam's face. "Would it work?"

"Of course not. But you never agreed so quickly before."

"In truth, I was expecting something like this. I'd be disappointed if you complied with all Eamon says. And it is a good idea. You are already thinking as a general. Why would I argue with that?"

Airam didn't answer, suddenly more interested in the dagger sheaths Zevran was buckling: one at each forearm, one at each thigh, two on the chain he fastened around his torso.

"Six daggers? What are you, a walking armoury?"

"Six daggers and two knives in my boots," he corrected him. "That should be enough, yes. And a few bombs. Poison gas or fire? What say you, hm?"

"I say you're insane."

"What is the second rule of an assassin?"

"Always expect the unexpected."

"Then why, if I may ask, didn't you take any weapons?"

"Well, I'm taking _you_."

"Oh?" Zevran quirked his eyebrow. "You thought there might be a danger, at this walk of yours, and decided that there's no one better to take with you than your ridiculously awesome bodyguard?"

"Actually, I have Rask for that." Airam's eyes crackled with laughter. "But then I thought, 'I should take Zev, it's always good to have an extra meat shield around if something happens'. Are you finally ready, silly assassin?"

"Not yet." He took another pair of sheaths, and, ignoring Airam's protests, buckled them at the back of the boy's belt. Then he handed him daggers, checking that they were well covered by tunic but easily pulled out when needed. "_Now_ we're ready."

oOo

Getting into the camp was much easier than Zevran expected; the guards gave them one bored, indifferent glance, asked if they were servants, and let them in without waiting for reply.

"Servants?" Airam asked when they were out of the guard's hearing range.

He just shrugged. "I've never been in an army camp, either. These men serve under their banns, no? It wouldn't surprise me if banns had their elven servants with them. I think we should pretend we're servants for now. It will be easier to move around. "

"All right. Let's get started, then. I want to see how they live here and what they do, everything."

They looked around. The clusters of tents of all sizes spread like weird mushrooms at both sides of the road as far as they could see. In the centre of each cluster there was one big tent, crimson or purple or dark blue, with a few smaller, white and yellow tents at each side and dozens of regular grey tents, much like their own, scattered around without any order or structure. Narrow trampled paths ran between and around the tents in all directions.

"Where is everyone? Don't tell me they're still sleeping!" Airam looked at sky which was already turning pink like cheeks of an embarrassed maiden... or Alistair. Zevran chuckled.

"No, I think –"

The loud sound of a trumpet interrupted him. The sound seemed to be coming from the direction of the crimson tent. They headed there, trying to look as if they belonged and knew what was going on. Moments later, a big group of men, fifty at least, sweaty and loud appeared on the road from the opposite direction.

"Breakfast!" one of them yelled when he noticed Airam. "Where's my breakfast, elf?"

"No idea," Airam, "but if you're inviting me, I won't say no."

Zevran groaned inwardly. So much about pretending to be servants.

The men laughed, all except the one who called. He was a big, beefy man, not much smaller than Sten; with a bowl haircut and a few bristles that were apparently supposed to be a soul patch, which gave him a look of a slow-witted thug, but his watery blue eyes were cold and sharp. Not a man you wanted to cross; so of course, he had to be the first person Airam chose for his cheekiness.

"Dirty knife-ear! Learn your place, or I will pull those ears and throw them to dogs!"

Rask growled, stepping in front of Airam.

"Enough, Rowland." Another man stepped forward. He was of Alistair's age, and build, but he had air of authority around him; the other guy retreated like a dog scolded by his master. "Common camp boys don't have mabaris with them. They're probably... personal servants of one of them banns."

"Whores, you mean," Rowland mumbled. "How can anyone like beasts like these? Just the idea makes me sick."

"I said enough," Tobias snapped. "I'm Tobias, son of Bann Oswyn, and these are my men. Please don't mine Rowland; he's just irritated because he lost sparring match to Miles," he waved his hand towards one of the other men, "and lost his whole weeks pay, _again_."

The men chuckled and jeered. Rowland stepped back, though it seemed he would love to twist few necks, preferably Airam's, maybe also Tobias'.

"What a wonderful mabari," said another man. "I've never seen him around. Which bann does he belong to?"

"He's mine," Airam said proudly. There was a surprised mutter, and several men glared at him suspiciously.

"Ah... a gift, right? From your master?" Tobias asked, apparently trying to be polite. Zevran had to chuckle at Airam's expression; if these men weren't careful, they might end like ice statues.

"I don't know who was his previous owner, or if he even had one," he said irritably. "When I first saw him, he was very ill. The kennel master asked me to find some healing herbs for him and when I returned, let me muzzle him. I don't know how he managed to survive and run away from the horde, but he tracked me in the Wilds, more than a week after the battle. He's been fighting at my side ever since."

"From the horde? Wilds?" Tobias frowned. "What do you– you mean Ostagar? You were a kennel boy at Ostagar?"

That was too much. "I was a soldier, you fool; I fought at the Tower of Ishal," Airam snapped. "You have no idea who I am and instead of asking, you jump to hasty conclusions based on nothing but racist prejudices. If you lead your men like that in the battle, then I pity them. None of them will survive one hour."

All eyes turned to Tobias in stunned silence. Zevran shifted his pose, ready to pull his daggers at any moment if necessary. Airam wasn't worried at all, as usually.

It was Rowland who finally broke the silence. "I don't care whose whore he is, ser Tobias. If you don't teach him his place, I will."

At that moment, two elves appeared from the opposite direction, bearing down on the big, steaming kettle, and a big bag that clanked and jingling with every step. They shot a brief surprised looks at their little gathering, but quickly dropped their gaze and shuffled away.

Airam grinned at Rowland. "Tell you what. You want me to prove I can fight? Fine with me. But I won't fight you. Too pathetic. I'll fight... Miles, was it?"

Zevran moaned. "Airam–" he tried, but was ignored.

"But, if I win, me and my pal get your breakfast."

Tobias arched his brow at him. "And if you lose?" he asked, his voice full of suppressed anger.

"I won't," Airam said haughtily.

"If he loses, they clean latrines," one of the men suggested. They all jeered at that, and even Rowland seemed satisfied with such a punishment.

Miles was a man around thirty, not much smaller than Rowland. He didn't jeer with the others; instead, he carefully studied Airam's moves. Zevran frowned slightly–this man knew how to fight. Airam was not a rookie anymore either, and he had already refocused his energy into strength, but Zevran wasn't sure if it would be enough, this time. If they were at the same level, the man's bigger size and weight could be a considerable advantage.

They moved from the road to the wide area in front of the crimson tent. The two elven servants had already put the kettle on a log and took out tin bowls and spoons out of the bag, and were calmly waiting for the men to line up for their serving. But no one was interested. Airam and his opponent faced each other in the middle, while the others formed a tight circle around them. If they needed to retreat quickly, it would be a problem. Not good. Zevran didn't trust these men; who knew what would they do if their friend was losing to an elf. Rask was also anxious, crouching and growling, ready to jump to his master's defence. Zevran smiled down at him.

"Calm down, my friend. They are only playing, yes? It is not a real fight. But if you notice anyone wants to interfere, tear their neck and kill them."

Rask gave him an annoyed growl–_tear them yourself, _you_ are not my master_–but Zevran was satisfied. He was sure his target audience got the message as he intended. They stepped back from the mabari, leaving a wide free area around him and Zevran.

"Here, elf." Tobias took his sword and offered it to Airam. "Unless you want to fight him bare handed?" His men roared in laughter.

"That's very kind of you, human," Airam quipped with his cheekiest grin, "but I prefer these, if you don't mind." He pulled out the daggers, and their grins froze on their faces. Zevran would bet they had never seen a _cinquendea_ –with triangular double edge, broad enough to tear a big hole in the enemies that killed them instantly, it was a favourite weapon of Crows, but surprisingly unknown outside Antiva.

"Try not to kill him," he said to Airam. The soldiers jeered again, but it didn't sound convincing.

The man was good; an experienced soldier, and surprisingly fast for his size. But Airam was lither, and, Zevran was pleased to see, played dirty. The first time he kicked the man below the belt the crowd gasped with surprise, and then roared with laughter, cheering for him and teasing his opponent every time Airam avoided the hit or made a good move.

"Watch out for the cheeky monkey!" they called, "or he'll cut off your banana!"

The man kept his calm, as if he couldn't hear it; Airam on the other hand was clearly distracted. Zevran frowned, worried.

"Stop fooling around, Air!" he called. "If you don't finish it till I count to one hundred, you'll be doing extra exercises every free moment till the oath ceremony! You won't be allowed to even get near a book!"

Airam turned to him with shocked expression. "Two weeks?"

"One," was all he said as a reply.

Airam ducked to avoid the blow – Miles didn't stop to listen to conversations – and took few steps back. "I'm sorry, Miles," he said grimly, "the fun ends here. This cruel bastard-"

"Ten," he said.

"And a cheater!"

"Twenty."

"I hate you," Airam muttered and attacked Miles again. As Zevran expected, the extra motivation helped quite a bit – was more focused and fierce. By the time Zevran counted to sixty, Airam was completely in control of the fight; all Miles could do was to parry. There was no doubt that he would win long before-

"Hey! What are you doing, you damned knife-ears! Put it back!"

They all turned out to the distressed call. The elven servants picked up the kettle again and started to drag it away. "I'm sorry, ser. The breakfast time is over. We need to get back, or we will be punished," one of them explained anxiously, as several soldiers surrounded them.

"Would you mind if we ended this for now, call it a draw and have breakfast together?" Airam asked politely, lowering his blades.

The man sheathed his weapons as well. "I don't need your pity, elf. It wasn't a draw. You won, and that's it."

"I didn't mean it as pity, but have it your way." Airam shrugged and turned to the servants with a sweet smile. "Could you please leave it here for just few more minutes?"

The servants exchanged an anxious look and finally put the kettle back. "All right, ser, but please hurry. The main cook will peel our skin off if we're late."

Airam's face darkened. Zevran put an arm on his shoulder. "Not now," he muttered so only Airam would hear.

Airam relaxed a little, though he didn't stop frowning. Tobias gave them a suspicious look, but kept his mouth shut; a clever decision, if Zevran was asked. It didn't take long to distribute the food; the whole breakfast consisted of less than half a bowl of a sticky, pale grey mass with less than appetizing smell.

"Ahhh… home sweet home," Airam said, breathing it in, as he looked for a free log to sit. The men didn't budge at all, but they forgot Rask. He wedged between two men, oblivious to their angry insults and shifted and wiggled until they gave up and moved elsewhere, followed by jeering from others. Rask gave a happy bark at Airam and Zevran, and they joined him.

"It's been some time since I could smell this delicious aroma. Are you sure the main cook is not a Qunari?" he turned to the servants. "Because I know one who cooks the same way. Whatever ingredients you give him, the result always looks and smells like this."

The servants exchanged another anxious look. "No, ser… he's a human," one of them peeped. "And that's not a speciality, it's just porridge."

"Truly? And here I thought it was a glue for leather boots," Zevran muttered, dabbing at it with the spoon.

"See how ridiculously awesome us Fereldans are? Our products are always universal and practical. I bet you can't say the same about Antivans!" Airam quipped haughtily, bravely tasting some. "Come on, Zev. It's not that bad – this one at least has butter in it. - No, _you_ can't have it," he snapped at Rask, who put his head on Airam's knees and whined. "I know how much you scrounged from the kitchen boys last night, you glutton. It's a miracle you can still walk."

Zevran sighed and tucked in, aware that everyone was staring at him expectantly. "Mmmm… you were right. It's just like Sten's cooking."

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Tobias blurted out after a while. The men stopped eating and listened – the question was apparently on their mind as well.

"You tell me," Airam replied with a smirk. "How could an elf know to fight?"

Tobias shrugged. "An elven mercenary? I've heard it's quite a bit cheaper. I'd never do it myself, but I know some bards hard on money hired few of your kind, before Ostagar."

"No wonder we lost," Rowland mumbled, spitting. Few others murmured in agreement.

Zevran couldn't help chuckling at Airam's disappointed expression.

"Let's start from the other end, then. You know who is the Commander of this army, right?"

"Arl Eamon is," said one of the men.

"Well, officially it's the crown prince, Alistair Theirin, the brother of late king Cailan," Tobias corrected him. "But it's Arl Eamon who acts on his behalf; the prince is too busy for that."

It was Airam's turn to gape. "_Arl Eamon_? _Not_ the Warden Commander?"

"The Warden Commander is travelling with the prince Theirin," Tobias explained. "But what does it matter to you? Who are you?"

"No one important, apparently," Airam muttered. He got up and returned his bowl to one of the servants. "I can help you cleaning it, to make up for the time you lost because of me," he offered.

"T-thank you, ser, but that won't be necessary," the servant replied, throwing an uncertain look at the frowning Tobias.

"It's all right," Airam assured him as if he didn't notice it. "I need to visit the other parts of camp anyway. Coming, Zev?" He took the bag with the bowls, ready to go, when Tobias stood up and stepped into his way.

"I'm afraid not. I can't allow you mess about camp until I know exactly who you are and what are you doing here."

Airam scowled and sighed. "As you wish. I'm bad at this undercover thing anyway."

"At least without beautiful maidens admiring you," Zevran teased him. "Allow me to introduce us, then. This knife-ear, ser Tobias, happens to be Airam Surana, the Warden Commander and the Captain General of the King's army; I dare say that right now, he's the most important guy in Ferelden. And I'm his humble bodyguard, Zevran Arainai."

"If you're humble I'm a Qunari," Airam muttered.

The revelation didn't have a desired effect, however. Nobody believed them.

"I don't deny that you know a bit of fighting, but the Warden Commander is a mage. You better stop pretending to be him, or I'll have to arrest you," Tobias said.

"And I've heard he dyes his hair to some weird colour," someone else added. "Crimson or pink or something like..." the man's voice trailed off and he took a step back as an icy aura whirled wildly around Airam.

"Pink? _Pink?! _Who says my hair is pink?"

"Such terrible lies!" Zevran agreed. "First of all, it is not dyed."

"_Zev._"

"Second, it is not pink at all. It is most lovely aubergine shade," he added, pulling off the cap from Airam's head. "And if you want to see his magic, I dare you to comment it," Zevran finished with a sly smirk.

Airam's ears turned pink. A few men chuckled uncertainly, looking at their leader. Tobias was almost as white as Airam. "The Warden Commander and his assassin!" he breathed.

"Ah, you finally decided to use your brain? I'm _so_ glad. Now, then. Let's get back to business. I want to inspect camp without everyone knowing. Keep my presence here a secret. That is an order. If you violate it, you'll have to bear consequences. Am I clear?"

The change was immediate and absolute, as always. The elven brat was gone, and in his place there was the Warden Commander, resolute and not tolerating any impertinence. This was the stance and tone practiced into perfection through dealing with Morrigan and Sten – these unfortunates had no chance to resist. Ah, the look at their faces! Zevran didn't bother to hide his amusement. So full of disdain just a moment ago, and look at them now, all humble and embarrassed and apologizing, even the racist bastards like Rowland.

"No need to worry, we're not offended," Airam assured them. "Now. Tell me what you normally do during the day."

"That depends. We are all assigned different tasks," Tobias explained, still pale. "For example, I help at the headquarters, with administration. Some help the smiths, or carpenters and tailors, or in the warehouses; some are sent scouting, we don't want darks horde to catch us unaware, and there are patrols-"

"Then why do you need servants?" Airam interrupted.

"Well they… do many others things soldiers can't… and higher officers have personal servants…" Tobias writhed uncomfortably and quickly returned to the previous matter. "Then, in the afternoon we have drills and training and at seven dinner is served; after that we have free time to rest or play cards, or go to town, if we get the leave."

Airam mused over it for a while. "We'll join you. It's the fastest way to learn more about camp and you. Let's split and meet here in the afternoon for training. I'd like to see what you do. What do you think, Zev?"

He thought it was a terrible plan, but he could not say that aloud. So he just nodded. Airam went to the warehouse; Zevran decided to check the production of armours and swords. The men they were assigned to didn't seem happy about it. Especially Rowland the elf hater, who worked in the forge. Oh, he was humble and obedient now, but his eyes glistened with cold hate. If he could, he would throttle Zevran, for being an elf and for daring to be important in spite of it. Zevran smirked at him maliciously. A poor compensation for not being with Airam but at least he wouldn't die of boredom.

oOo

The smiths and other craftsmen were at the outskirts of camp, in a wide area enclosed with a strong wooden fence and massive gates reinforced with iron, now wide open. Inside was a big yard surrounded with rows of shops, warehouses, stables–and, judging by the deafening roar, the mabari cots in the far right corner. The wagons and carts rattled by, loaded with all kinds of supplies and raw materials. Humans and elves, equally exhausted, scurried around, paying no attention to Zevran and Rowland.

When they entered the forge, the difference in temperature was so high it almost knocked Zevran off his feet. Rowland told him something he couldn't catch over the noise and went to talk to another giant of a human. Zevran guessed it was the boss here. After a while the man came over to Zevran and measured him with eyes and asked who he was. Zevran gave him the name of one of his former marks, trying to act as humble as possible. They agreed with Rowland that it would be best to keep the pretence of Zevran being a man servant for one of minor nobles in camp who was sent to the forge for punishment. It was obvious the smith didn't buy it for one second, but he didn't question it. Smirking, he pointed Zevran to the bellows: he was to keep the fire hot.

It was as hard as it was unpleasant, but there were not easy or pleasant jobs here, and the smith was equally acerbic to humans and elves. The elves were hauling in heaps of charcoal for the fire or pumped the bellows; humans were processing and hammering iron. How anyone could want to be a smith and do this voluntarily was beyond him. When the smith announced lunch break, Zevran had had enough for the rest of his life. The next time his crazy kid wanted to play elven slave, he was more than welcome to do it, but without Zevran. Especially if lunch was worse than anything Sten could ever produce, even with Alistair's help. Disgusted, he prodded the greyish unidentifiable mass on the plate, trying to decide which was less damaging: eating it or faint of hunger, when the smith approached him.

"You did good today, ser Arainai. I was a bit surprised. Didn't think you had it in ye to stay fer a whole day," he said, patting Zevran on the shoulder.

"You know who I am? Did Rowland tell you?"

"Not all Fereldans are like that racist bastard. Some of us have ears and brains and know how to use them," the smith declared proudly. "Let me introduce myself. The name's Jaycob Halder, the main smithy in this Makerdamned smithery. .Now, I'd guess you came for different reasons than to toil away at the work of a smith, am I right?"

Ah, finally someone clever, who could recognize an important person! Zevran's mood immediately improved. "Always pleasure to meet someone wise," he said benignity. "As you guessed, I'm here for a purpose – to find-"

"Them's at the castle realised they can't have a war without weapons, eh? 'Twas about time someone cared, those bastards at the guild sabotage us, even a master smith of my level can only do that much with six journeymen, how am I supposed to make weapons with eight men? Eh? But do they care, no of course not they just come and make orders; Jaycob we want this, Jaycob, you need to do that, what am I, a bloody mage?"

Zevran blinked. If there was a competition in talking, this man would be a serious competition for Dagna. He might even win, in fact. "But the soldiers–"

"Thugs and idiots! Farmer boys! What do they know about the smithery? Less than my little toe, that's what they know. Smithery is an art, it's not something you can learn it two months! These thugs? Bah! All they know the difference between the anvil and the hammer! It's a good thing we're fighting them monsters and not Orlesians, they'd die laughing at the weapons of our king's army!"

"Then that would be a good thing, no?" Zevran offered, amused.

"That funny to you, is it, that my name will be ruined and I can close my forge and what will then my family and families of my apprentices live of, eh? They'll all starve and die like hungry kittens; it would be more merciful to drown them now. And it's all fault of those bastards at the guild, refusing to give me proper men and lower the price for material!"

The smith was getting angrier and angrier by every word; if he didn't calm down, he'd have a stroke. That would be troublesome – too much explaining that he didn't assassinate him.

"I apologise," he said. "But, things are going to change now that the Warden Commander and the King is here, I promise that. They'll make sure you get everything you need. Please tell me everything about the guild and the troubles-"

"They better do if they don't want to become mincemeat," the smith murmured. "All right, listen carefully..."

Zevran suppressed a sigh and forced himself to look as encouragingly as he could. This would be long, long talk… He hoped Airam was having more fun.

oOo

When he got back to Tobias's part of camp, Airam was already there, surrounded by a little crowd of devoted admirers. Apparently he had become friends with everyone in the warehouse and amazed them with his unusual strength and willingness to help. Zevran chuckled. Business as usual, there.

"You don't happen to have an extra strong lyrium on you, do you?" he mumbled softly, when Zevran sat next to him.

"No." He wanted to add something about the price of showing off, but when he saw how exhausted the boy was, thought better of it. Instead, he ordered Tobias to arrange a wagon that would take them back to the castle. It was sign of how exhausted Airam was, that he accepted it without a single objection.

"I thought you wanted to watch them training?" he teased once they were seating in the wagon that rattled back to the castle.

"Yes, but as the Commander of Grey I have more pressing matters I need to solve," Airam replied haughtily.

"Oh? And what are those, if I may ask?"

"Getting a more satisfying dinner, for example. What _was_ that grey mass for lunch? Or did you have something else?"

"No, your descriptions matches my lunch perfectly. In truth, I decided I prefer not to know what it was."

They both laughed, but then Airam frowned. "Eamon says most of the money is spent on food, so that was a nasty surprise. Not that I expected anything luxurious, but I thought it would be, you know, _edible_."

Zevran agreed. And when he remembered all the intrigues and sharp practices the smith had told him about, it was obvious something was wrong here. They would need to have a look at that, but how? It would require someone competent and loyal, who would know local conditions, and yet would be able to pass around Eamon… even if Eamon wasn't directly included in it, it seemed he didn't have big control over it…

Their musings over it was interrupted by a sharp call. The driver stopped, and they turned around to see what was going on. To their surprise, there was a very angry Morrigan storming towards them like a goddess of thunder.

"Morri? What are you–"

"I am here to tell you that you should sneak into the castle, go into your room–with your silly assassin as well–and wait there for Erwin and others."

"What? Why?"

"And when you meet the annoying fool do tell him that if he ever uses me as a mail pigeon again, I will not show mercy to him."

"Okay. But–"

But she just threw a glance of pure disdain on them, turned into a raven and disappeared. They paid the driver a few coins to shut him up and hurried to the castle. Zevran led the way, Airam carefully repeating his every step. Fortunately there were no guards on the bridge and the yard was almost empty... except for a few elven kids. One of them smirked, bowed, and bolted into the castle. Ah. Erwin was a truly clever guy.

They had barely closed the door behind them, when there was a sharp knock and Erwin, Alistair and Bann Teagan entered. Interesting.

"What's going on and what have you done to Morri?" Airam asked, glaring at Erwin. "I thought she'd roast me alive!"

"I merely asked her to find you and give you a message, and when she refused, I told her what I think of that attitude," Erwin said innocently.

Alistair burst into laugh. "He shocked her into obedience," he clarified. "I was surprised she didn't poo on him as she flew out."

"She's too clever to do something like that," Erwin snapped. "Anyway. I wanted to meet you before Arl Eamon does."

"Why? I want to meet him and have a serious talk with him. He owes me some explanations," Airam said.

"Why don't we all sit down and listen to what Bann Teagan has to say first," Erwin suggested. "It is most interesting, I assure you."

"All right, then." Airam sat on the bed, cross legged. Zevran and Erwin joined him, while Alistair and Teagan sat in the big, comfortable armchairs–though Teagan fidgeted like a fresh caught fish thrown on the live coals, all ghastly and opening and closing his mouth.

"Go ahead, Bann Teagan, please. You have my undivided attention."

"Well... I guess there's no polite way to say this, so I'll be blunt. My brother is... not very fond of... non-humans, as I'm sure you have noticed by now. And he is not happy that what he calls 'Fereldan army' is under command of an elf. Even an ordinary human would have been a heavy blow, but an elf, that is too much for him. He will never accept an elf as his equal."

"But isn't Loghain from a peasant family?" Alistair asked.

"Indeed. Which is exactly the reason why my brother would not accept another one. He was always convinced that it was a grave mistake to give such power to a commoner. Unfortunately, Loghain's actions after Ostagar further confirmed him in his opinion. He is convinced that a Captain General of Fereldan must be a proper noble. Or, at least, of its _human_ part. The non-humans are just necessary evil–extra buffer between Fereldans and darkspawn, and he does not care who commands them."

The temperature in room dropped considerably–and as there was no fire in fireplace, it was quite unpleasant. Zevran shivered and nudged Airam.

"Are you trying to completely ruin my complexion and hair? Stop it."

Airam's ears turned most adorable shade of pink as he quickly cancelled the icy aura surrounding him. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled and turned to Teagan again. "And you don't share his opinion?"

"I used to, but since I saw certain elven commander in action, I have changed my mind," he replied with a small smile. "However, it did not convince my brother. He believes that the only thing it proves is how incompetent I am."

"Hmph. So that's why everyone in camp believes he's the highest commanding officer. He wants to replace me!"

"No, he's not that big fool. He doesn't want to replace you himself, but he already has a perfect candidate. Does the name Fergus Cousland mean anything to you?"

"It does ring the bell, but I can't remember where I heard it..." Airam frowned, trying to remember.

"The Teyrn' Cousland's of Highever firstborn, yes?" Zevran asked. "The one who avoided the massacre, because he was at Ostagar. People in the north believed he'll return and free them from Howe."

Airam looked at Zevran, surprised. "Well! Aren't you a handy source of trivia? All right, then. From now on, you're officially my external memory."

"A Cousland... yes, I see how he would be a perfect candidate. Couslands are... were, the second most powerful noble family in Ferelden, loved and respected by most. Model Fereldens, you could say. It wouldn't be difficult to convince nobles to choose him over Airam. Couslands would regain the name and influence they lost due to Howe, and uncle would get an easily controllable commander that would do whatever he wanted. That way, even if Airam remained the Captain General, he'd be practically helpless."

Alistair looked at Erwin, who nodded. "Very clever analysis, Your Highness," he said, and Alistair beamed with satisfaction. "The first step will be to make Bann Fergus the commander of Redcliffe forces, I believe. We should find a way to prevent-"

"No. Oh, this will be _good_." Airam grinned like a cat who caught a mouse and now was deciding how to eat it. "This is so perfect! Almost as if I arranged it, hehe. No, we'll let Eamon do as he wants! Actually, Bann Teagan, do you think you could convince your brother to step down and make Bann Fergus the commander before that's the day after tomorrow? I'd love to see his expression, but I don't want to bring him death. Especially as it was us who revived him and it wasn't exactly easy. No, let him believe he won... for a day."

"For a day? What have you planned now? Don't you think it's about time you told us about this secret strategy of yours?" Erwin glanced at Zevran, but he just shrugged.

"It's easy. You've heard of the 'mixed unit tactics' that the Riviani used with great success for almost two hundred years now, right? Well. I decided to apply it to our army... with _slight_ reform."

He looked around and bent forward. They all bent forward, holding their breaths. "We will have mixed _races_ tactics," he declared triumphantly. "There will be no 'human army' at all. There will be only army. _The Wardens' army_."

There was a shocked silence that lasted all through Airam's explanation. Zevran couldn't help grinning. It was just as crazy as he expected from his kid. But, it made sense. Alistair was the first to agree; Erwin needed more convincing and Teagan only agreed, Zevran suspected, because he was loyal to the king. But, in the end they all accepted it and carefully planned every step of their little conspiracy.

He almost felt sorry for the Arl, but then again... no, not really. It was his own fault for challenging the craziest Warden Commander in Thedas. This game would be fun to follow. And if something went wrong... well. The castle is full of slippery stairs, no?


	26. Shockwaves from the Past

After a long, unplanned hiatus due to real life issues, Failed to Fail is back again. :D Thanks to all wonderful people who supported me, poked me, send me lovely reviews. Even if I didn't reply, each of them was like a little ray of light that made my day nicer. :)

Special thanks to ShebasDawn for her help and comments and the title. :D

The character introduced in the last part is not so completely knew - more about her, Erwin and how they met Air is in the chapter 10 of Ice and Leather - _Enchanted Life_.

I hope you'll enjoy the chapter. :)

* * *

**Shockwaves from the Past**

Nobody right in their mind would ever confuse Airam with a dwarf. And as Alistair and Farren insisted they wanted to come as well, the visit to the dwarven camp had to be planned differently. As a result, the next day started much better. They could get up at a more normal hour (though still disgustingly early, if someone bothered to ask Zevran, but nobody did), have a proper breakfast, and, most importantly, get there in Arl Eamon's cart. Alistair's legs were apparently too royal to walk at any distance bigger than between his suite and a dining hall, as Farren noted, which turned Alistair's face into a lovely shade of crimson.

The dwarves had better intelligence than the humans, as they were already expected when they arrived. Well, expected might be a too weak word for it– the road to the commanders' tents were lined up with dwarves. All casteless, as far as they could see.

"How peculiar," Airam drawled, looking at Farren.

"Indeed, Commander," he replied, with innocent wide eyes, "I have no idea how they found out we were coming."

"Of course you don't, Farren. I'd be very annoyed and disappointed if one of the Wardens did things behind my back that could ruin my plan completely," Airam said in the same innocent voice. "How can I think of managing an army, if I can't control two people?"

Farren had at least enough decency to look embarrassed.

"But, maybe we could use it," Airam continued, before his wayward recruit could start apologizing. "You and Al should go and meet them. They love you as their heroes for your amazing work in Dust Town. They'll be more open to you." He leaned out of the window to give the driver a sign to stop.

"What about you?" Alistair asked.

"I'll go meet the generals." Airam sighed. "I'd much prefer to join you, but we don't have time for that. Don't forget we're going to visit the elves in the afternoon. So it's better to split up. Have fun, but keep your eyes open. I don't trust Bhelen and I want to be sure casteless warriors are treated well."

"Let me guess. You intended to send us off from the beginning, anyway." Alistair frowned, but before he could start another poorly-timed argument, Farren put hand on his shoulder.

"Understood, Commander," he said, ignoring Alistair's glares. "When do you want us to report?"

"If you want to come with us to the Dalish camp, at lunch time. Al, you, at least, should come. If you want to stay here, Farren, just be back in the castle for dinner."

"Naah. I don't miss the Dusters that much," Farren replied with a grin. "We'll come to Kardol's tent for lunch. I bet he'll have much better food than common soldiers, anyway."

Zevran peeked through the window to watch Alistair and Farren's glorious welcome. They both seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. "That went well. Farren really didn't know about your plan?"

"No. And I had no idea about this. He's quite resourceful, I'll give him that, but his cheeky comments and silly ideas are sometimes real trouble."

"Oh? You know that description reminds me of someone," he said, arching his brow.

Airam laughed. "Really? _Whoever_ do you have in mind?" But then he sighed. "That's why I'm so worried about today," he admitted. "I hate these negotiations. There's a thing that needs to be done, or people will die. There's a way, and people willing to do it. I'll never understand why that is not enough. Why do we always have to beg some stupid nobles to let us do our job?"

Zevran had several answers to that, but now was not the time. "You'll do fine. Just stick to the plan, yes? Think of it this way: if we're successful today, then tomorrow will be easy – and then you'll be free to do as you wish, without any interfering nobles. Yes?"

The cart stopped. Zevran peeked through the window again. There were several dwarves waiting outside – and one of them was Kardol. Good.

"Head up," he said to Airam. "And if things go badly, don't forget your trump card."

"What trump card?"

"That the barley doesn't grow underground."

Finally, he was laughing again.

oOo

An hour later, and they had only managed to get through the greetings and some small talk about Orzammar. Why did dwarven nobles always have to be so proper? Good thing Kardol and his men were there as well. He was sure he heard Airam softly muttering 'barley tax' twice or thrice. If those noble pompous fools continued like this, Airam would forget all about the plan and say something true and sincere, but undiplomatic. He shot a pleading glance at Kardol.

"I apologize for my improper manners, Warden Commander," Kardol said. "But I believe you had more a pressing reason to visit us than polite talk."

Bhelen's generals glared at him indignantly. Zevran carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. It wouldn't do, to start laughing now–but these four dummies made it quite difficult. There couldn't be more difference between them and Kardol's men.

The Legionnaires were stern and tough warriors that made one believe in the legend that the dwarves were born from the stone. They were dressed in simple black tunics with the delicate silver brand of the Legion on their chest, though Zevran would bet they had chainmail underneath it. They were not armed–the dwarven protocol forbade carrying weapons to the negotiations–but even without their axes, they looked formidable.

Bhelen's generals, on the other hand, were a display of colours. Egill Guirson, the general, even had gemstones weaved into his beard. They looked like _deshyrs_ primped for a ball at the royal palace, not generals at a war council. If they had hoped that showing off their wealth and power would gain them respect from the Warden Commander, they were in for a dire disappointment.

"Yes." Airam smiled gratefully at Kardol. "But first, I'd like to ask about the former casteless. Do they have their own general?"

"They are happy they know how to hold the sword, let alone lead the army," muttered one of the pompous fools. Airam's eyes narrowed, but before he could comment on it, Guirson silenced the dwarf with a stern look.

"There is no separate army of casteless, Warden. All warriors are a part of King Bhelen's army, regardless of their origin or social status before their enlistment. One army, under one commander. Again, it is not due to our disregard for these men, but merely a necessary measure for the sake of efficient management and control of the army."

Airam beamed. "One army under one commander? How intriguing! That's exactly what I came to discuss with you..."

oOo

Two and half hours later, after a lot of sweet-talk, a bit of mild threatening, quoting from the contract with King Bhelen, which Airam wisely took with him, and a lot of defamation of most human nobles, the agreement was finally reached.

The dwarves were not exactly jumping with joy, but in the end they admitted that it was indeed best to have one army under one commander, and that it would be more advantageous if said commander was a Warden, not some human noble twat. Nobles rarely knew anything about warfare, and were full of racist prejudices, Airam declared, which made the dwarves shift uncomfortably. But, he added with an innocent smile, dwarves were different. They had an entire caste of Warriors! Not like humans, who had no idea how to fight–just look at the Ostagar fiasco–and yet they felt superior, calling the other races humanoids.

Yes, it was for the best that Alistair went with Farren.

Kardol's men mostly watched, amused. They didn't have any problem temporarily submitting to the Warden Commander, for the sake of stopping the Blight.

"But this idea you have of everyone working together, humans with elves, dwarves, and even mages on top of that..." Kardol shook his head. "To tell the truth, I can't imagine it. If it was anyone else, I would say it's impossible. But, if it's you..."

"Thank you," Airam said, with a serious face. "I am honoured that the leader of the Legionnaires believes in me so much. But this time, I can't do it by myself. I will need your help tomorrow, Kardol. You know best what's at stake; you know the most about what a threat the darkspawn are. We must make the others understand, and focus all our force on stopping them, or all is lost. If we are not united tomorrow, we won't stand a chance against the horde."

"Do not worry, Warden–or should I say, Captain General. You will have my support tomorrow... and I think we can do more than just tell them about the danger..."

"What do you have in mind?" Airam asked, but Kardol just grinned. "Leave it to us, Captain General. I have few ideas, but as I don't know what will be possible in such a short time, I will not say it now. Grant me an audience an hour before the council tomorrow, and I will explain everything."

Airam stared at the dwarf as if he had said he wanted to shave. "You know, in the almost year that I have tried to fight the Blight and gather an army, this is the first time ever that someone said, 'leave it to us'."

Kardol chuckled. "Don't be mistaken, I'm not doing you favour, Captain General. Soon you won't have time to piss, with all the work that's expected of you. You may yet yearn for the return of those peaceful days when you were travelling around the country, with nothing more to worry about than a few darkspawn."

oOo

"So, can the two of you explain to me why those dwarves were talking to me as if I were a retarded mabari pup?" Alistair demanded.

It was early afternoon, and they were headed to the Dalish camp. Here on the surface, Zevran found the dwarven kitchen much less satisfying than those in the depths of Orzammar. Must be the lack of nugs. The rattling of the cart didn't help at all. That was the sole reason why Zevran decided it was safer to keep his mouth shut, for once. It had nothing to do to with the urge to laugh at the future king's adorable perplexedness, yes?

Alistair gave him a suspicious look. "Nothing to say?"

"Nothing to say," Airam confirmed with a shrug. "They were nobles and Bhelen's men. What other explanation do you need?"

"I guess that's true..."

"Of course it's true. Now, better tell me if you have a plan to convince the elves that they should work with humans and dwarves."

There was a moment of awkward silence and exchanged glances.

"I thought you'd use your standard plan," Alistair said. "You know–improvising."

Farren snickered, but stopped quickly at a furious glance from Airam.

"Oh, ha... Ha. So funny, Al. Just wait till tomorrow. I'll leave everything to you. You're the crown prince, after all. You need to practice these things."

'You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

"As your king, I forbid it!"

"As your commander, I order it. And remember Al–being Warden has priority above everything else."

That was too much even for Zevran. "Ah, Alistair. Surely you know by now that starting a skirmish with our fearless leader is almost as futile as with Morrigan, no?"

Alistair sighed. "I will learn, one of these days."

"What do you mean, almost?" Airam demanded. "And besides, it's not a skirmish and it's not a joke. I won't leave _everything_ to you, don't worry, but you will have to greet them, support me, butter them up or be adamant, as necessary. We'll go over that when we're back at the castle, but I suspect you will have to improvise tomorrow. A lot."

It was a sensible idea – though Zevran doubted Alistair saw it as such. The Crown prince's expression could be used as a textbook illustration of 'utter terror'.

"And you're only telling me now? I need to prepare!"

"That's why you're here," Airam replied. "You met the dwarves, you know what their soldiers need; now we'll meet elves. All that will help tomorrow. And you'll have a whole evening to prepare your opening speech. It doesn't have to be long – no, it _mustn't_ be long; just a few diplomatic words about how great a help all of them will be in the Blight, and so on. I'm sure Leli will help you."

Alistair didn't seem much reassured, but he didn't protest, either. Zevran was impressed. The two young Wardens were growing up...

"All right. Just don't be surprised if I give them a lecture on the best Fereldan cheeses."

"No, I counted on that part. Support of domestic production has a significant role in providing funds for the army."

...Well, maybe not that much.

oOo

The welcome in the Dalish camp was much less spectacular. Two grim and taciturn guards informed them that the Keepers wanted to meet them, and led them through the narrow paths that wound between the clutter of aravels. Anyone without a guide would have a hard time finding where the Keepers were. Zevran frowned. A good tactic against shemlen, perhaps, but not so much against darkspawn. And too different from the others – it would be more difficult to integrate into one army.

This was the visit he was most worried about. Humans and dwarves were easy to deal with, if you knew what worked on them. Proud, stubborn elves were much more difficult to appease. Oh, they would be polite and friendly; they would act like wise, kind parents that only had your best interests at heart, up to the point you dared to disagree or question them. It was like that with Zathrian and it was like that with –

_Brasca! _Zevran cursed, as another name and face emerged from the mists of the past he was trying to forget. If that guy appeared at the meeting, things would go much worse... and would Airam believe he didn't keep it a secret on purpose?

With each step, he was becoming more and more anxious, though he didn't let it show on his face, naturally. He kept chatting with Farren, explaining the little he knew about the Dalish to him, much to the annoyance of their guides, judging by their stiff shoulders.

Finally, they came to a big clearing, cleverly obscured from view by the aravels. In the middle, a big campfire was lit, and twenty or so elves sat around it. Most were in their fifties, serene and distinguished, talking in hushed voices. When the guards announced them, all talk stopped. The Keepers and their Firsts got up and introduced themselves, but Zevran didn't pay much attention. He searched for the one face he knew – and there he was, chatting with a man next to him as if he didn't care about the arrival of the Wardens. But his stiff posture and determinedly avoiding looking in the Wardens' direction told Zevran everything he needed to know.

The man saw him. And remembered all too well who he was. And wasn't happy at all to see him again.

When it was finally Keeper Benat of the Ellarian clan's turn to introduce himself, he pretended not to know who Zevran was; in fact, he acted as if Zevran wasn't even there. Naturally, Airam noticed, and shot a questioning glance at Zevran, but when the only answer was a slight shrug, he let it pass.

Oh, this should be fun.

oOo

At first, everything went smoothly. They were sitting around the big fire, drinking delicious mead; and when, after the obligatory chatting about weather and bad crops, they moved to the main topic, the Keepers all listened without objections. Yes, they understood and approved of the need for a united army, following the commands of a single commander. It was a wise decision – unity, after all, was always the key to survival.

The only problem they had was who should be that commander. There were a few – and Keeper Benat was the most vocal – that insisted it should be a Dalish.

Zevran watched him, surprised. Physically, there wasn't much difference. His hair was more grey, the eyes more watery, and the stern lines between the eyes and around the mouth were deeper. Other than that, Benat looked exactly like he had eight years ago. But... had he always been such a pitiful fool?

Eight years ago he was so majestic and noble. Everything he said was like a word from Dirthamen, wise and true, and nobody dared to question it. Now... now he was just an unkind, shrewish old man. Average, at best. How could he change so much? This was the man he begged on his knees to let him stay, who decided his destiny with one word?

Airam was slowly losing patience with the man as well.

"As I said. The Commander must be a Grey Warden – a neutral party, acceptable for all allies," he said for at least the twentieth time.

"How convenient that there are only two – you and the human king," Benat snapped. "At least have enough courage to say you want it for yourself, Warden."

There was a moment of silence after that; some of the Keepers shifted uneasily in their seats. Benat had apparently said aloud what they were all thinking.

"Convenient?" Airam asked softly; Zevran couldn't help smirking when he heard the tone. It was the tone their fearless leader used to shut up Morrigan and Alistair when their quarrels went too far.

"Convenient?" he repeated, as he stood up and looked around himself. "I and my companions have spent almost a year travelling across the land, negotiating with humans, dwarves and elves, doing the dirty jobs they didn't want to do themselves, just for a chance of standing against the Blight-"

"That's right, Warden – you shouldn't forget that it's you asking a favour from us," Benat cut in, followed by the approving murmur of several other Keepers.

"I. Am asking you. For a favour." Airam glared at Benat, then at the others. "No, you deluded fool. I am here because your ancestors were intelligent enough to realize they don't stand a chance against the Blight. That is why they signed a contract with the Grey Wardens to provide forces as necessary – here, read."

He pulled out a leather sleeve from his breast pocket and handed it to the nearest Keeper. "Third paragraph, if you please. The first two are just opening phrases."

The Keeper blinked, but obeyed. She took out the old parchment from the envelope and carefully smoothed it on her knees. "... we, the Keepers of – ah! they – they are all named here! All the clans! Even Merilinor and- "

"Yes, they are all listed there," Airam cut in. "You can read it all later. I can even make a copy for each of you, but would you please be so kind as to skip to the oath now?"

The Keeper gave him a disgusted look, but nodded. "we... hereby declare and affirm that we will be faithful and bear true allegiance to the Grey Wardens, and in times of need, provide all necessary support to vanquish the darkspawn evil that is a threat to all races and nations of Thedas. Should Grey Wardens call, we hereby swear that all Dalish able to fight will hear the call and come, follow their lead, and fight until such time as the Archdemon is slain and the lands safe from its hordes again, or until we perish and all hope is gone."

There was dead silence after she finished; even Benat and his supporters didn't have anything to say. Airam carefully folded the parchment again, returned it to the sleeve and tucked it back into his pocket. Then he glared at Benat again.

"I am here because I was told the Dalish, the keepers of the lore of their ancestors, are honourable people who keep their word. The time of need has indeed come, and the Grey Wardens called. If you wish to break the oath and cancel the contract, then say so. Ferelden will fall if you do. All the forests here will rot with taint. But I swear this: I will make sure all the nations and races of Thedas know the part the Dalish had in it."

"There is no need for such harsh words, Warden Commander," one of the Keepers said quickly. "We don't intend to break the oath. You called and we arrived, as you see."

"Not all of us are with Keeper Benat," Lanaya added. "We did not forget what you did for us, Warden Commander."

"And what exactly has he done? He caused the death of one of our most respected Keepers, and it had never been properly investigated-"

"That is enough." All murmuring died as another Keeper stood up – the oldest one and one of the few whose name Zevran had bothered to remember. Rannor, the keeper of the Ralaferin clan, had the posture and authority of the king of Arlathan. Three words, without raising his voice, and everyone sat silently with their heads bowed, like kids scolded by a caring but strict grandfather.

"I'm sorry you had to witness such a shameful scene, Warden Commander. Keeper Benat apparently takes us all for fools," he said, with a sideway glance toward Benat, who cringed but didn't dare say anything.

"Years ago, Keeper Benat couldn't overcome his personal grudge. He broke the tradition of our people and caused a grave injustice," Rannor continued. "I believe his behaviour today is another attempt at admitting his error."

Zevran froze, staring at the man. He couldn't possibly mean – no, that was ridiculous. How would he even know what had happened? Besides... was it truly an error? Back then, it hurt, yes. But if Benat had decided otherwise, he would have brought danger to his clan. The Crows wouldn't-

He blinked, as the old man looked directly at him and gave him a sad smile. "What was done cannot be rectified; but I am glad that you found a way to change your fate. Still, know this – our arms will always be open for you, child."

Everyone was staring at him now, some confused, some with pity. He squirmed on the bench, trying to think of anything he could say to that, but thankfully, the old Keeper was not waiting for a response.

"I give you my word, Warden, that the Elvhenan will fully support you tomorrow. You have more than proved yourself worthy of our trust. If we have to work with humans to defeat the Blight, we shall do so."

Airam bowed his head. "Thank you, Keeper Rannor. I will do my best not to fail your trust." He looked at the man, smiling. "It would be my honour to welcome you at the meeting tomorrow, Keeper," he said. "Now, please excuse us. There is still much left to do."

They left followed by surprised looks and hasty murmurs; nobody tried to convince them to stay a bit longer. A pity. The mead was good.

oOo

"What was _that_ about?" Alistair asked the moment the door of the carriage closed behind them.

Zevran shrugged. It was all in the past. Rannor's words were touching, but didn't mean anything. "My mother was Dalish. As I child, I used to dream what it would be like, to live in the forest, hunting wild beast, travelling around the world... Very exciting, no? Eight years ago, after I became a full Crow, I found out a Dalish clan was camping near the village where my mark lived. I visited them, asked them if I could stay with them. The Keeper let me stay with them for a week, but then he came and told me I am not suitable for such life. By that time, I came to the same conclusion. So when he told me to return to the Crows, I did. Truly, it was not worth of today's drama."

Alistair and Farren were placated by his casual tone and smile, but Airam was livid. "That bastard," he hissed through clenched teeth. "What kind of a sick man sends a child back to the Crows? Good thing I didn't know. I don't know if I could control myself. I'd freeze him solid."

"Ah, bello mio, I appreciate the emotion, but that man is not worthy of being upset. Besides, if I stayed with Dalish, I would not get the mission to dispose of two Grey Wardens in Ferelden-"

"You know, Air, he's right. They would have sent someone competent instead – we could have been dead already," Alistair cut in.

Zevran coughed and continued as if he didn't hear it. "And what would you do, without my marvellous self? Without my ridiculously awesome work with daggers-"

"You mean ridiculous," Alistair cut in again.

"my unmatched wit-"

"That one is true, yes. I've never seen any smaller."

"or my massages?"

"Yes, because – what? What massages? Air, what is he talking about? You mean you and him are – ewww! And ewww again!"

"I'm not sure I understand, Your Highness. Every Friday, I give the Warden Commander a massage of shoulders and back – very helpful after walking and fighting, yes? But what could you mean? Do tell."

Alistair blushed and stuttered, so cute in his embarrassment it was impossible not to laugh. He watched Airam tease his friend, and the last trace of the bitterness he still carried in his heart melted away. If he had stayed with the Dalish, Airam would be a stranger to him today... No. It was better this way.

oOo

It was only late afternoon when they returned – the visit to the elven camp was much shorter than expected. Airam welcomed the few extra hours, and immediately called for a meeting with Bann Teagan, Erwin and Alistair. Zevran was also invited, but decided his presence was not necessary. He was neither Fereldan nor a politician, after all. He had retreated to his room and had just taken out his alchemy kit to work on a new poison, when there was a knock on his door.

To his surprise, there was a nervous mousy maid he had never seen before, who insisted that Lady Daria invited him for a late afternoon tea and wouldn't take no for an answer. It took him a moment to remember who the name belonged to. Erwin's pregnant wife. What could she want from him? Curious, he accepted, and followed the maid to the chambers of said lady.

Well... 'lady' probably wasn't a precise term. Ladies didn't have a shock of pale blue hair that perfectly matched their blue eyes, a pink tattoo on their nose, and big earrings that seemed to be made of the bones of some creature. Not even in Orlais. And they didn't pour brandy in their guest's tea. All his jokes and the tricks he normally used on ladies seemed out of place here. For the first time in his life, he, the best lover in Antiva, had a problem conversing with a woman.

"Am I that stunning?" she asked with a cheeky smile. "Come now, il signore Zevran. Shouldn't you try harder to impress me? I am the closest thing Airam has to an older sister, you know."

"Dark violet for male members of the family, vivid blue for females? Doesn't Erwin feel left out?"

She snorted. "Oh, the hair. It is just for Lady Isolde's sake. She was also stunned by my appearance, you see. Except in her case, it was the shape of my ears that bothered her. It seems my husband forgot to mention that detail when he was arranging my stay here. So I decided to give her a distraction. You may bet she does not look at my ears now."

_But the rest is your usual appearance? _No, it wouldn't be a good idea to ask aloud.

"But the rest is my usual appearance," she said with a wide grin. "Even the tattoo – I've had it since I was fourteen. I couldn't know my future husband will be so important that the great Arl Eamon himself would be willing to offer him assistance one day. Back then, he was just an unimpressive dolt obsessed by books and study. It still amazes me how someone like him, without the slightest hint of imagination, ended up being the best illusionist in Ferelden." She laughed, then gave him a stern look. "Of course, if you ever repeat this to anyone, I'll kill you."

"I swear by Maker's naughty body parts, I shall keep it secret even on my deathbed," he said with a grin and put his hand over his heart; then he become serious again"But I have a question, if I may. You and Erwin seem very close to Air. But you only knew him as a little child, years ago. Or am I wrong?"

"There are some bonds that don't weaken with time, Zevran. We may not be related by blood, but Air – and Jowan, too – are our family, make no mistake. I can't believe Jon didn't come to us, when he got out of the Tower," she said, shaking her head. "What did he think we'd do to him? Even if he betrayed Air… he'd be alright, after a week or two…"

"So foolish of him, yes." Zevran made a mental note to never cross Erwin and his wife. "But how did you meet? In class?"

"In the corridor, and in the closet," she said, giggling at his confused face. "Airam was in the Tower only a few weeks, and he was still afraid of every Templar… I was told you know why?"

"Yes," he said coldly; he did not intend to discuss it with her.

"Interesting. You know, you are the only one he's told. We heard a very brief version from Irving, and found out more when we left the Tower. The nobles may have forgotten the Suranas, or they pretend they have, but any mage would immediately recognize Air's surname. The death of his parents caused quite an uproar, you see – Shwara being a war hero and a court mage, and the family having the royal promise that they could live where they wanted… Mages took it as a betrayal. They took it as a sign that no matter what social status they gain, mages are still just second-class citizens at the mercy of the Chantry. As was the intention of the Grand Cleric, I believe… But I digress. You wanted to know how we met Air."

She sipped her tea, staying silent for a moment before she continued. "As I said, it was a few weeks after Airam was brought to the Tower, unconscious and covered in bruises… At first he refused to communicate with the mentors, so they put him in a group with the smallest children, but Irving insisted on testing Air's skills by himself. And it was discovered that Airam's magic is on a rather advanced level, for his age. His parents taught him well, though they apparently used methods not approved by the Circle. That's how he was assigned to the Elites, the group of the most talented apprentices. Not all the mentors approved of it, but again, Irving insisted. Erwin was an Elite, too – the head of them, in fact."

"Ah. I see. But were they not in different classes? With the age difference-"

"Some mentors would hold separate classes based on age, but some preferred to have one class. After all, the group of Elites wasn't so big – when Airam joined, there were only nine others. But they didn't meet in class. As I said, they met in the corridor. Erwin was going to class when he saw Air hiding from Templars. But he misunderstood, and offered to introduce them."

"I think Air didn't like that."

"No," she sighed. "Air thought Erwin wanted to give him to the Templars to… well, you can imagine. He ran away in tears. Later that evening, Jowan came looking for him. He was so adorable! When he found out what Erwin did, he got so angry, scolded Erwin like a brat – you know, I bet nobody ever dared to do that before. So we helped search, and it took us the whole evening. Three hours at least. We found him in one of the unused classrooms, hiding in a closet. All wet with tears, poor darling. He was there the whole day. Ever since then, we cared for the two of them. 'Played the happy family' as some of our classmates used to tease us. Envious fools. We were a happy family. It wasn't an act, for any of us."

Unconscious. Covered in bruises. All wet with tears. In a way, Zevran was glad the culprits were not punished yet. He wanted to kill them with his own hands.

Daria gave him a knowing look. "You know, the Knight Commander will be here tomorrow. He will accompany the First Enchanter."

"Is that so?" A wide smile spread across his face.

"But you'll have to be much more convincing than today," she pointed out with a smirk.

"It will be my most convincing performance," he replied seriously.

"Good. Now, enough about that. Let's talk about you. I have a few questions, and I expect honest answers."

"Ah? This should be good. Go ahead, my dear. Ask anything you want," he said, certain it would concern his past life, Crows, loyalty and such.

"Wonderful!" She beamed, and settled down more comfortably in her armchair. "Well then... Is it true that you've been ogling my sweet little bro for some time now? Why haven't you confessed yet? When are you finally going to do it? And most importantly are you aware that if you hurt him, you will be reduced into a squeaking ball of pink goo?"

He should have gone to that meeting...


	27. Army of One

After a long and unplanned hiatus, Failed to Fail is back. :) And I hope I to have more reliable update schedule this year. Last year was... blighted. . I want to thank and apologize to everyone who reviewed the story and never got a reply, and for all who favorited this story and follow it. Your support was a part of killing my archdemons and finding my will to write again. Thank you.

Special thanks to Seika, my wonderful beta for her help, and ShebasDawn for her determined poking until I finished the chapter. :D

* * *

**Army of One**

On the day of the Council, Zevran was roused by loud banging on his door three hours before sunrise. When he opened the door, determined to kill whoever it was - except for Airam, maybe - he found Erwin's butler, totally unperturbed by an angry assassin glaring at him. He dryly announced that Zevran was expected in his Master's room. Immediately. Though he should make himself more presentable, the man added in the equally dry tone, after giving Zevran a cold stare.

Only then he did he realize he was naked. He quickly put on his everyday clothes, equipped his weapons and followed the butler.

When he strolled into Erwin's room a few minutes later, still feeling like a fish on a hook just pulled out of water, he found it crowded. Alistair was doing an fair impression of a sleepy hen on a perch, trying not to fall off his chair, while Teagan and Airam were openly drowsing on the sofa. Even Leliana's smile was somewhat sour. The only person who looked energetic was a little human man with an egg-shaped head, patches of amazingly black hair above his ears, and equally amazing black moustaches, waxed into perfection and twirled upwards. He sat in the armchair with his fingers crossed under his chin and watched the scene with slightly amused interest.

"Zev," Erwin said with a yawn, which earned him a disapproving glance from the unknown gentleman. "Come and join us, please. Ser Forbes, allow me to introduce you - Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows and currently the bodyguard of the Warden Commander Surana. Zevran, meet ser Phineas Forbes, the best accountant in the whole known world, currently working for the Warden Commander's grandfather."

The man nodded, giving Zevran an appraising look. "Two-thirty," he said. "Although I expect the actual paid amount was much higher."

Zevran arched his eyebrow at him as he seated himself between Alistair and Airam, who were giggling together like little girls. "Excuse me?"

"He means your clothes are worth two golds, thirty silvers," Airam explained between giggles. "Which is so not fair, by the way. Mine are worth only one seventy three."

Leliana pressed her lips together. The outfit Airam was wearing was one of those she chose for him in Denerim, for meetings with the nobles, and Airam looked dashing in it. "Monsieur Forbes' sense of fashion is a little bit… questionable. No?" the bard asked sweetly.

"No no no, _mademoiselle_, you misunderstood me. I do not speak about fashion," the weird little accountant retorted, apparently oblivious to the fact he had just earned himself a sworn enemy. "I talk about the economic value. All I said is the price _I_ would pay for it."

"You're not making it any better," Erwin pointed out with a wide grin. "What he means is that's what it would cost you if he bought it for you… no need to look so sceptical, my dear Leliana. Cutting costs is what this guy does, and I have to admit, he's almost as good at it as I am with magic. I've been trying to bribe him to leave Shwara and work for me for years now."

"I do not work for youngsters. It is one of my principles. I will work for the Warden Commander since that is the wish of my employer, and only temporarily," the accountant said dryly. "And I better start now, if I am to win this Blight. From what I have observed, there is much to be desired in the management of the army."

"If _you _are to win this Blight?" Airam asked, amused. "No offense, but you're an _accountant_. You don't even fight, let alone lead the army."

The accountant sighed. "See? This is precisely why I reject employment offers from youths. They have a completely inaccurate perception of life. But, I was informed you have an interesting strategy in mind. Let us have a look if it is feasible..."

oOo

By the time Forbes had given the strategy his blessing, it was already time for breakfast. Three hours of detailed cross-questioning had reduced even Erwin to a shivering schoolboy trying to please a strict mentor. The accountant did not accept 'I don't know' or 'we'll sort that out later' as answers, and forced them to brainstorm plausible solutions for any possible issue he could think of.

"_Bon_," he said in the end, "now you should be more or less ready for the gang of Eamon's brown-nosers. But there is one more thing that you will need to succeed."

He turned to Alistair. "And that is your support, Your Highness. It is absolutely crucial that you use royal manners. Remember, you are the ruler of all Fereldans now, not a coy nameless Warden boy."

Alistair nodded. "I know. I'll do best, I promise."

The little man arched his brow.

"Uh, I mean… know your place, We did not allow you to speak?"

"Adorable," the accountant muttered, though it was obvious he wanted to say something entirely different.

oOo

Arl Eamon had his own plans. During breakfast Zevran discreetly studied the man, wondering what could be the reason for the smug little smirk plastered on his face. He knew about their secret meeting, that much was obvious. And Forbes' presence was annoying him. But he didn't look as worried as Zevran would have liked to see him. What was he planning?

The answer came shortly after breakfast, when First Enchanter Irving presented himself for the council - followed by no less than five Templars, including Knight Commander Greagoir. They apparently took for granted that they would attend the Council as well.

"Unfortunately, I have to reject it," Airam snapped. "Only the leaders of the armies and their assistants can participate. Templars do not qualify for either, I'm afraid."

Eamon's smug grin became even wider. "I invited ser Knight Commander-" he began, but Airam didn't let him finish.

"They can stay as the guests at your castle, then," he snapped. "But the only people with the authority to invite people to the War Council are His Highness Alistair Theirin, and me. The Templars are not allowed at the Council, and this decision will not be discussed."

Ah, now this was the expression Zevran liked on these two gentlemen: a well-balanced mixture of disbelief, shattered expectations and helpless fury.

"Unacceptable!" the Knight Commander burst. "Any meeting of several mages requires a supervision of the Templars. Especially as I understand that some of them are uncivilised apostates who will fill the heads of the Circle mages with Maker-knows-what nonsense. Have you already forgotten Uldred? Do you want another rebellion?"

Airam folded his arms. "See? This is exactly why I don't want you there. They're not 'uncivilised apostates', they're allies of the Wardens and Ferelden, and I will not antagonize them by the presence of Templars. Now could you please-"

"You're out of your mind! I will not allow it - I will not put innocents in danger again!"

"It is not yours to allow it, Knight Commander," Alistair cut in, in the royal manner. "We will remind you that the Templars have no authority over either Wardens or the Crown. We agree with the Warden Commander. The Dalish and their Keepers are allies of Ferelden, and we will not allow you to antagonize them due to old prejudices. The Keepers, and the Circle mages as well, have survived without succumbing to a demon's temptation this long; we believe it is safe to say they will resist one more day."

There was a shocked silence after Alistair finished; then Greagoir bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness," he said tersely, turning to leave.

Zevran grinned inwardly; Alistair had no idea how much he had just helped him. "Allow me to accompany the Knight Commander to a guest room, where he can wait until the Council is over, Your Highness," he said, keeping his face and voice respectful and humble. He could see Alistair and Airam were itching to ask what for, but they restrained themselves.

He led the man to a guest room nearest to his own. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Knight Commander," he said pleasantly. "May I offer you some brandy?" Without waiting for reply, he poured them both a glass.

"I assume you didn't play a servant for nothing. What do you want, assassin?"

"Tsk, tsk. Such suspicion." He grinned and handed the glass to the Templar. "I merely want to have a little chat. Who knows, we might find out we have many things in common and become close friends, yes? Please, sit down and have a drink."

Not even pretending he bought it, the Knight Commander sat down and took a sip. "What do you want?"

"Straight to the point. As you wish." Zevran leaned comfortably in the armchair as he continued. "I need information you have. Ten years ago, a group of five Templars found the hiding place of the family of apostates. You should know who I'm talking about - you nominated them for promotion. I want their names."

"No," Greagoir snapped almost before he finished.

_Frustrating fool_. "May I know why?"

"That should be obvious. I will not let you hunt and murder five people for doing their job ten years ago."

Zevran watched the old man's face. His self-control was almost perfect. But there was a slight uneasiness in his voice, as if he was trying to convince himself just as much as Zevran. "Ah. I apologize. I did not know the Templars' job included rape. Or the beheading of little kids," he said sweetly.

Greagoir's shoulders stiffened. "There was no evidence of any of that."

"Besides the testimony of one knife-ear brat, yes?"

"Are you accusing me of being a racist?"

"Aren't you?"

They glared at each other. The old man was the first to avert his eyes. "There was nothing I could do. One was the third son of an Arl, another a second son of a Bann; others were their friends and lackeys. Believe it or not, I did send a request to the Grand Cleric to expel them from the Order. It was brushed away, with the answer that the subject was out of discussion."

_Quite convincing performance_. _One would almost believe him_. "Is that why you promoted them?"

For a moment, the man's face twisted in the helpless rage. "Would you prefer me to let them stay in the Tower? Let them patrol in the corridors and halls, with him always within their reach?" Greagoir sharply stood up and started to pace around the room. "You all think it is so easy. Mages good, Templars bad, it must be wonderful to live in a world like that!"

Zevran snorted. "Oh, shall I give you a hug and say it's all right, that I understand your troubles? The simple fact is, those men committed a crime, in a way that even most of the Crows would find disgusting. You knew about it – you just admitted it. Yet you still defend them and won't give their names?"

"I _don't_ defend them!" Greagoir bristled. "But I won't give them to a murderer like you, to be killed without a trial. That's not justice, that's no better than what they did. Think of me what you want, but I will not drop that low."

"Sit down, please," Zevran replied calmly and didn't continue until the old man reluctantly obeyed. "Now, let me make it simple to you. I can – and I will, if necessary – go to the King and make this official. A proper investigation will be started-"

"The Grand Cleric will never allow it," Greagoir cut in.

"Oh, but I think she will. A request from the new king, the key to end the civil war? And from the Warden Commander, the only one competent enough to stop the Blight? I don't think so."

"Airam Surana helped a maleficar!"

"And was willing to die for it," Zevran pointed out calmly. "What's more, since then he proved he's a loyal Andrastrian many times. He cleared the Tower of demons and abominations, succeeding where Templars – your men – failed, preventing the massacre."

Greagoir winced, but Zevran didn't give him time to reply and continued, ticking each item on his finger.

"He defeated the demons in Redcliffe; he rediscovered the long lost Temple of Andraste and her Sacred Ashes, which he proved by healing Arl Eamon, and provided a sample for further examination to Brother Genitivi; he founded the Chantry in Orzammar and negotiated royal protection for dwarven Andrastrians." He paused, giving Greagoir time to think about it.

"But, most importantly, he and the His Majesty, who was a charge of the Chantry, if I may remind you, before he was conscripted, currently have the support of two thirds of nobility. Come to the Oath Ceremony next month, if you don't believe me."

"You are an intelligent man, Knight Commander. Tell me, what do you think will be the reaction of the Grand Cleric, should the Warden's supporters find out exactly how his parents and little sister died? Even in Ferelden, I don't think people would be happy to hear the Chantry was involved in abuse of an eight year old child, or a beheading of a four year old girl who didn't even show signs of magic yet."

The Knight Commander didn't reply.

"Your silence is also an answer... We both know that the Grand Cleric will claim she never had any idea about it, that it was the fault of those five for doing it and yours for covering it up; you may be sure she will provide all the support to the investigation of such a horrendous crime. So. You have two options: force me to make this official and remain a pathetic puppet of the Grand Cleric, bearing all the blame; or, give me the names and help justice be accomplished. Yes, I said justice. I'm not an assassin any more. You have my word I won't kill them."

A quick death was too good for those five; he never intended to grant them that mercy. But no need to tell that to the Knight Commander, yes?

"I'll leave you to think about it," he said, as he rose up. He looked down at the Knight Commander, who looked few shades greyer than before. "I expect to have your answer after the Council."

oOo

Finally, the long expected moment was here. Zevran looked around. Everything and everyone was ready. The representatives of their allies were seated; Shale and Sten prepared to defend their position with their lives, should someone uninvited try to get in. Wynne had her healing spells ready, should the discussion become too heated. Leliana was already inside, making sure the guests didn't kill each other before it started. Alistair and Airam had wiped their tears after a shot of his Antivan brandy. Time to go. He nodded to the guards, who opened the door.

"His Highness, Crown Prince Alistair Theirin! Commander of the Grey Wardens, Airam Surana!" the guards anounced.

The two grinned at each other, and entered in their practiced, proud gait side by side, which earned them surprised looks by human nobles.

"Zevran Arainai of Antiva!"

He entered the room, flashing his most brilliant smile at the humans before standing behind Airam. They did not return it. They sat around the long table like clusters of different kinds of poisonous mushrooms, emanating such strong poisonous fumes that the air was musty and unbreathable.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Alistair begun when the murmur died out. "Allow me to welcome you, in the name of Ferelden, on this first War Council, and thank you for joining our forces against the evil of the darkspawn. Seeing you all makes me certain that we will defeat it, that Ferelden will not fail, and the evil will not spread to your countries. I will now give word to the Warden Commander Surana, who is the Captain General of this army-"

"You can't be serious!" A human noble so short and fat that he could have been a dwarf if his beard was neater, jumped to his feet. "We will not follow a knife-ear!" He looked at the men next to him for support; a few of the nobles murmured in agreement; Eamon's men, he assumed. The rest looked slightly confused, reminding Zevran of the young sergeant Tomas, who was surprised to find out Eamon wasn't the Commander of the army, acting in behalf of Alistair... It was about time Airam and Alistair settled this chaos

One of the Dalish, who Zevran recognized as the supporter of Benat, stood up to retort, but Alistair silenced everyone with a wave of his hand – he did quite a convincing performance as a king.

"May I ask who you are?" the future king asked coldly.

"I am Bann Arlos, Your Highness, and-"

"Bann Arlos." Alistair cut in. "Do not say any racial slur in our presence, ever again. The same goes for the everyone. We will _not_ tolerate any racists in the Council.". Arl Eamon kept his face carefully neutral, but Zevran was sure Alistair had just ruined one of his little schemes to disrupt the Council.

"I apologize, Your Highness," Arlos said with a bow when he recovered. "But, I would like to ask you to reconsider this decision. There are undoubtedly better candidates – you cannot expect we will follow an elf."

"You do not have to, then," Airam retorted in a calm, bright voice. "If you think you have a chance on your own, you can leave," he said, pointing his hand to the door. "But before you do, let me ask you, how much experience do you have with the darkspawn? In fact, all of you. Have you ever fought the darkspawn before? Please, raise your hand if you have killed at least fifty," he challenged them. "Thank you."

"Not you and your people, Commander Kardol," he added with an amused smile, when he saw them raise their hands. "I'm well aware of expertise of the Legion of Dead."

Snickering, the dwarves lowered their hands again. There weren't many left, after that. Half of Bhelen's generals, a few of the Dalish and only one human - a handsome brunette in his late thirties, with athletic build and a face marked with sorrow and determination. It wasn't difficult to guess who it was.

Bann Arlos had a triumphant smile on his lips. "As you see, Your Highness, there are candidates with experience of fighting those creatures," he stated; several other humans murmured in approval.

"Is that so," Alistair said, not impressed in slightest. He turned to the human. "Teyrn Fergus Cousland, I assume," he said, not unfriendly.

"Yes, Your Highness," the man replied, standing up.

"He killed hundreds of monsters! And he has a proper education as a leader of the army!" Bann Arlos declared.

"Bann Arlos, please sit down and be quiet," Alistair snapped, before turning to Fergus again. "How big is your army?" he asked.

"They fell at Ostagar, my lord. Only a few are left; those that were scouting with me when the battle started."

"A fine leader indeed, and even better scout" one of the dwarves snickered, but fell quiet under Kardol's stern glare.

"What did you do after Ostagar?" Alistair asked curiously.

Fergus' face hardened. "With the help of Arl Eamon, I started working on weakening Howe's position and getting back Highever."

"Loghain's brown-noser," Alistair growled derisively, earning a surprised look and a little smile from Fergus. "He'll get what he deserves, together with his master."

"Thank you, my lord." Fergus bowed. He looked like he wanted to add something, when Kardol got up.

"We heard your rival's experience, Warden Commander. Care to tell us what is yours?"

Airam startled and looked down at him. "I don't know... I never bothered to count. Zevran, you always counted points, right? How many have we killed?"

Zevran stood up and bowed in respect. "Alas, I do not have exact figures, Commander; I always counted points only for that battle. But, if I take the total number all of us fought together – and taking into the account the Deep Roads and days we didn't fight... I would say it was ten. Per day, I mean. So that is, let me see... around two and half thousand. Of course, I have only joined you in Cloudreach, so the total would be by few hundred higher."

Amid the shocked silence, Kardol nodded, and sat down. "Thank you, Warden Commander. I think this ends any discussion on competences."

"Two and half thousand! You killed half of the horde? You will forgive me my doubts about it–" Bann Arlos started again.

"No, we will not," Alistair snapped. "Kardol, the Commander of the Legion of Dead, is right. This discussion ends now. In fact, this was never point for discussion. The Warden Commander will be the Captain General of the army; not only because of his experience with the darkspawn, but for the simple fact that without him, none of us would be here now. Anyone who has a problem with him, or with his race, has a problem with me."

There was an approving murmur between the dwarves and elves. "That is true," Egill Guirson said, standing up. "King Bhelen made a contract with the Warden Commander; we will not bow to anyone else."

Kardol was the next. "The Legion of the Dead came to the surface and temporarily abandoned our sworn duty to fight the darkspawn in the Deep Roads till the end of the day, because we saw his actions. We will be proud to stand at his side; but we will not follow any other surfacer."

"The same is for the elves," Rannor said, standing up. "We came to honour the contract our ancestors made with the Wardens, to answer the call in the time of the Blight; but we will only follow their Commander."

And then came the biggest surprise of all, when Irving caughed and stood up. "I agree as well. We are here because we, too, have a contract with the Wardens – and because we owe our lives to this Warden Commander, and his men. You make me proud, Air," he said with a smile. "But we do not owe anything to any human noble. If the Wardens are not in charge, we will retreat back to our common duties."

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Bann Fergus bowed and sat down, looking angry. He shot a surprised glance at Eamon. Ah… what did the Arl tell him? That Airam was just a pretender, who didn't know what he was doing? Quite likely; it was like Eamon, to judge others by his own petty mind.

"Thank you for your trust," Airam said with a smile. "It may seem to you that killing almost three thousand darkspawn in ten months is a ridiculously high number; but trust me, the horde was much bigger than that back then – and since then, the number has increased. More darkspawn are produced every day, but the number is just one one the three big advantages the darkspawn have over us."

He stepped away from the table, to the big board they had prepared, still covered by a cloth. "They have three advantages, I said. First, they outnumber us three to one, at least. Second, they have a collective mind. It allows them to know what happens in the half-mile perimeter, the position and number of their enemies, and to focus all their force on their target. And third – darkspawn are not racist. They don't care what race their broodmother used to be."

"What do you mean? What is a broodmother?" Fergus Cousland asked, frowning.

"I mean, there are no female darkspawn. To procreate, they need to take females of the untainted races. The woman undergoes a painful and irreversible transformation during which she is impregnated by multiple males," Airam explained, waiting a little to let this information sink. "When it is finished, she lays eggs, which gradually develop into cocoons, until the darkspawn growing inside are ready to hatch."

"Even if they change into darkspawn, how can they lay eggs?" one of the elves asked, face twisted in a repulsed grimace.

"They do not change into a darkspawn, they change into a broodmother," Airam corrected. "Here, let me show you. This is the broodmother made from the female dwarf. They are the most common type, because of close proximity to dwarven settlements. Leli, if you please."

They pulled down the curtain, revealing the one of the paintings Kardol's cartographers were working on since Airam's visit day before. For such a short time, the level of exact detail was disturbingly high. Everything was there – the sharp teeth, the tiny arms, large pairs of breasts cascading over the huge belly, huge tentacles swaying in the attack.

The effect was even stronger than expected – all except the Legionnaires cried in shock and disgust, followed by accusations of forgery, of a disgusting lie; they were not willing to accept it. Airam waited for a moment until they calmed down.

"Second most common. The broodmother made of a human woman." With Leliana's help, they put the picture down, revealing the one beneath it. It showed a creature with a human head and arms, but three pairs of huge breasts and an enormous spider back with several pairs of spider legs and tentacles.

The humans were all on their feet, shouting and protesting, as if it was somehow Airam's fault.

"The broodmother made of an elven woman," he announced after a while, revealing a picture of praying mantis with elven head, and, again, the several pairs of breasts and tentacles. The female Keepers all turned green in their faces, but they didn't scream, or become sick; Zevran couldn't decide if it was because they were determined to keep their dignity in front of humans, or if they were simply paralysed by fear and disgust.

The last one was made of a Qunari woman. It was huge, mole-like creature with pale, scary lilac eyes, and again, standard equipment of breasts and tentacles.

When Airam turned to the others again, there was absolute silence. Nobody moved; they all stared at him, eyes full of horror. But he would not offer them any comfort.

"_This_ is what happens to women in areas the darkspawn conquer. _This_ is what will happen to _your_ mothers, wives, sisters and daughters if we fail. _This_ is what will happen, if you don't overcome old prejudices. There is a chance. They outnumber us, but we have more experienced forces, and we're better equipped. They have the collective mind, but on the other hand, they are unable to think as individuals, to make quick decisions and reactions to unexpected situations. But, they have unity – and we don't."

He paused, looking at Fergus Cousland. "I _do_ have a solution. But to make it work, all of you must fight, not just side by side, but together. As one army, under one commander. This Council can end only in two ways: you will agree to cooperate. That will mean reorganisation of the whole army. There will be no more 'human units' and 'dwarven units' or 'elven units'. There would be combined units of warriors, archers, mages, scouts of all races, led by the person most skilled and appropriate for such position, also regardless of race. Or, you can decide to let your pride win. In that case, I will resign, you can go home, and we will all wait till the Archdemon decides to appear. Men will be eaten, women turned into that," - he pointed to the board behind him - "and more broodmothers will produce more and more and more darkspawn. This Blight will turn into a bloody war that will last years or even decades, and even if non-tainted races win in the end, they will all be decimated. The choice is yours."

Zevran expected protests and heated discussion, but for a long moment, nobody said anything, all eyes turned now to Teyrn Fergus Cousland now. He stared at the board, frowning, then shot a look at Arl Eamon. His mouth twisted a little, as he stood up. "I believe your suggestion is the best way to win, Warden; you have my support."

Arl Eamon pressed his lips together, but he didn't say anything. He apparently did not expect this development – he didn't even have a chance to present his scheme. Good; at least others saw the king and the Warden Commander had things under control.

"Thank you, Teyrn Cousland," Airam replied with a nod of the head. "Now, then. If we finally settled this matter, let's focus on more important things. The plan is based on mixed unit tactics, as I'm sure you already guessed. But, Bann Arlos was right – I do not have experience as a leader of an army this big. So if you have a helpful idea that could improve it, say it. However I will not accept any suggestions based on racist prejudices, or comments that things should stay as they are now. And one more thing."

He turned to Leliana. "She will take notes of all agreements and conclusions that we will make. Here, you can suggest and discuss whatever you want. But once we're done, what we agree on is the law. I will not tolerate anyone who will try to disrespect it. Am I clear?"

Zevran barely suppressed a chuckle at the stunned expressions of the human nobles. An elf with that authority and confidence was something they could never even imagine. But, as huge a blow to their ego as it undoubtedly was, he could see in their faces they were glad there was someone strong to follow, who knew what he wanted.

oOo

The rest of the Council was much smoother. There were moments when discussion was too heated, but Airam had things firmly in his hands. Of course, the icy draft that wafted in the hall despite closed windows, and covered the beard of few loudest fools in hoar frost probably helped a bit as well.

In only two hours, they agreed on the members of the inner circle that would closely cooperate with the Warden: Kardol, and Egill Guirosn for dwarves; Rannor and Lanaya for the elves; Teagan and Fergus for humans; and Irving and the Senior Enchanter Torrin for the mages.

By midnight, they finally agreed that the new officers will be chosen from all races based on the test. The inner circle would set the test and supervise it, to guarantee that it was fair.

"Alright, then. We're agreed. We'll meet after we know the results of the test – which everyone will accept without any whining." Airam looked around at all the disheveled, exhausted people and smiled. "Good job, ladies and gentlemen. Please, enjoy the hospitably of Redcliffe. If you have any requests, our host will undoubtedly accommodate them."

"Of course Captain General," Bann Teagan said, when his older brother remained silent. "The Guerrins are honoured to host this Council."

oOo

Someone was banging on his door again. Zevran opened his eyes and glanced toward the window. The air outside was just starting to turn pink. With a curse, he crawled out of the bed and grabbed his daggers; if it was Erwin's annoying butler...

"Knight Commander," he said in surprise when he opened door. "What a pleasure. I didn't know you swayed that way... Please, come on in."

"Save your breath," Greagoir growled as he pushed a roll of paper to Zevran's hands. "Here. But I have your word you will not murder them."

Zevran looked at the paper and the names scribbled at them. His lips curled in a smile. "You have my word, Knight Commander. They will not die by my hand."

Greagoir gave him a suspicious look. "Whatever happens, I don't want to know." He turned on his heel to leave, but then stopped. "If you want to find them, start right here."

oOo

The next week was the busiest in Zevran's life. The soldiers, especially the humans did not like the changes much, and the existing officers refused to accept that they would be replaced. It took a week to calm down all emotions; and then the tournament started.

After another week, they finally had a regiment of soldiers skilled and clever enough to be officers. It was many more than needed, but Airam insisted on it. He had another test planned for them. They were divided into sixty mixed squads which trained together under the supervision of the inner circle and few assistants; in less than three days, one hundred of them were already outed for racism.

"It's no use if they can fight, if their brains are too small to lead their teams without racism," Airam snapped at one of the human nobles who tried to complain.

Airam himself continued to visit the army, and ordered all of his companions to do the same. Even the acerbic trio had to comply. They would visit the common soldiers, see what problems they had, what could be improved. At first they were met with suspicion and hostility, but Airam always kept all promises he made. The quality of food increased and even soldiers who couldn't afford it received good weapons and armors. Soon, rumours started to spread about his magical talent to solve all problems. Zevran suspected Farren, but he could never prove it.

In the meantime, Erwin's shadow team – Forbes, Teagan, Leliana, and, surprisingly, Fergus Cousland – worked on wringing more money from the nobles.

Slowly, step by step, the huge mass of people camping around Redcliffe started to resemble an army.

oOo

Zevran groaned. He should ask Daria to invent a spell that would made banging on the door impossible. Or ask Alistair to make it illegal.

"Yes?" he hissed from behind the closed door.

"Zevran, open the door. I need to talk to you about my grandson."

Grandpa Rashwash? In truth, Zevran had almost forgotten about the man; he was supposed to reach Redcliffe two or three days after them, but he didn't show up at all. And now he was suddenly banging on his door.

The moment he opened the door, the old mad pushed him away and stormed inside. With a quick wave of his hand, he froze the lock on the door.

"If you wish to be with me alone-"

"Shut up, fool. I don't have time for your blabbering now. If you care about my grandson, listen well. As it is, the chance that Air will survive this Blight is zero."

Zevran's knees buckled and his heart skipped a few beats as it squeezed in pain. No – no – not his Air. He stared at the old man, wanted to tell him it couldn't be true, things were going great, but he couldn't find his voice.

Shwara led him to the armchair and poured him a shot of brandy. "Don't worry. I'm here to prevent that. I already have half of the solution, but I need your help, if you're willing."

"Tell me what to do," he said simply.

oOo

By the time the castle woke up, Shwara was long gone; nobody even noticed he was there. If not for the small package now safely tucked in Zevran's inner pocket, he'd think it was just a dream. Now just to find a way to convince Airam-

The door opened a crack. "Zev? Up already? May I come in?"

Talk about the Warden...

"Of course, _bello mio_," he said with a wide grin. "In fact, I just wanted to speak with you-"

"Can it wait for a moment? The guards caught a Loghain spy. He's babbling that Loghain sent him to Ostagar."

"Oh? This should be good. Give me a moment." He opened his box with poisons, and took a few vials. "Don't worry, it won't kill him. Just in case he changes his mind. We need to make an impression, yes?" he said, when he noticed the look on Airam's face. "Let's go."

oOo

Zevran sighed at the pathetic look in front of him. A spy? _This_? First the elf spying on Redcliffe, what was his name... Berwick, yes. Then Jowan the assassin. And now this? All he did was tie the man to a chair and show him the vials, and the so-called spy turned into a pile of pork brawn.

Well, at least he didn't have to worry about Airam watching it. The crazy kid refused to leave Zevran alone. Sitting astride on a chair, he watched the whole interrogation without a single comment.

There was of course the possibility it was a lie. How probable it was that they would find a deserter from the king's army, after nine months? And that he would know the exact place where the important documents were hiding?

"I'm telling the truth!" the man swore for the hundredth time. "Loghain captured many deserters; he wanted to be sure no traitors go unpunished. The important guys are in Denerim, of course, like the Wardens, but the dungeons were also full, there was probably a mistake-"

"The Wardens?" Airam cut in "What Wardens?"

The man writhed on the chair. "I know nothing! I just heard some rumours – that Loghain captured Orlesian Warden conspirators that tried to sneak into Ferelden."

Airam got up. "That's enough."

Without another word, and ignoring the pleads of the spy behind them, they hurried out.

"Keep him in the prison, but treat him well," Airam told the guards when the door shut behind them. "Erwin will want to know about the Wardens," he continued, as they walked back. "And we need to get ready. We should leave as soon as possible."

"Leave where?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Ostagar, of course. I want to see what documents are so important for Loghain."

"And there's no way I can make you change your mind? We could send someone else..."

Airam's only reply was a snort.

_Brasca_.


	28. True Desire

I have bad news for Airam's fans. It was inevitable, after three years of writing this story. In the last few months, I tried to delay it as much as possible, but it couldn't be pushed off forever. And so... from now on... Airam Surana is officially spoken for! :D

Big hug to my dear friend and beta ShebasDawn, for her help and encouragement (and poking to write xD). And thanks to all of you who review and favourite this story, as well as all silent readers who still follow this story and have patience with my slow writing. Thank you! Your support helps me to continue writing. :D

* * *

One of the reasons Airam was so eager to go to Ostagar, Zevran suspected, was to avoid the Oath Ceremony. This time, however, he found no support for his decision. No matter how much he tried to reason that the matter was of the highest political importance for Alistair's rule, nobody bought it. Even Erwin disagreed with him.

The ceremony was in three days, and Loghain's men were either dead or captured. Even if Airam waited for a few days, he would be at Ostagar sooner than the self-proclaimed ruler of Ferelden. Besides, the first guests would be arriving tomorrow. It wouldn't look good if the Warden Commander left the same day - they could think he was trying to avoid them.

Airam wasn't happy, but finally agreed on a compromise - he would wait until the ceremony, but leave the next morning.

"Good," Alistair said. "In that case, I can join you."

And the arguing started again.

oOo

During the next two days, there wasn't an hour without at least one carriage clattering into the yard, and soon it was impossible to go anywhere without stumbling over a noble or two. The library was swarming with groups of plump men trying to look stern, discussing Loghain's atrocious politics or catastrophic state of the country's economy. The garden was occupied by ladies with shrill voices, pretending to be interested in Orlesian fashion and pastries with unpronounceable names, and yet they always knew every word of their husbands' discussions.

But their favourite topics were Prince Alistair and the Warden Commander and the many unbelievable and exciting adventures they had encountered during their travels. If only a tenth of it was true, Airam and Alistair could rule the world, with the Archdemon as a tame pet.

So it was understandable that they had no time for ordinary mortals, yes? Under the excuse of working on the best strategy to defeat all the enemies of Ferelden and make it a prosperous and strong country again, the two had shut themselves in Alistair's study, and only joined their guests at dinners. To ensure they wouldn't miss anything, they asked the person responsible for the Warden Commander's security to closely observe and report all that was going on.

Which is why he was sitting in the study now, enjoying the best wine Ferelden could offer and delicious cookies that would turn Qunaris into drooling zombies at the command of the mighty king of Ferelden, if they ever had a chance to taste them. For the sake of the balance of power in Thedas, it was Zevran's duty to eat them all, no?

"Thank the Maker it'll be over tomorrow," Airam muttered. "I can't wait to be on the way again. How can they live like this? Eat, sleep, gossip. Talk about boreism."

Zevran could see the soon-to-be mighty king of Ferelden bristle at that. After a lot of arguing, he had agreed that he would stay in Redcliffe, but he was still bitter about it. Better to change the topic.

"You must go, yes. Give them more material for heroic tales, before they decide you are not so unique. Already there are rumours…"

"What rumours?"

"Yes, what are you talking about?"

Zevran smirked, satisfied with the curious looks on their faces. "There are rumours that those beautiful aubergine eyes of yours, Air, and your alabaster skin are not so unique, after all. There is a mysterious foreign noble, evil but sexy, who seduces innocent virgins in Denerim who apparently features the same."

Airam gaped at him. "Don't tell me-"

"One of the first victims was young Habren Bryland. She was totally crushed, poor little darling," he said, imitating the false crestfallen tone of the ladies - and watching Airam's ears slowly turn pink. Mission complete!

"You mean they think Air is sexy? _Our _Air?" Alistair roared with laughter. "A seducer of virgins! Air!"

Oh, this was getting better and better. Zevran's grin widened. "May I ask you, my prince, which one of our companions you consider sexy? If you don't think our Air-"

"I don't remember being yours," Airam snapped icily. "Now excuse me, but I have more important thing to do than listening to your silly blabbering."

"Like what?" Alistair demanded, but the crazy kid didn't listen; he stomped out of the room, letting the door bang behind him. "What was that about?"

Zevran wished he knew. Since when was being sexy important to Airam? The crazy kid he knew would laugh it off and agree with Alistair. But, maybe… no. No, he wouldn't dare to believe that unless he heard it from Airam's lips. He turned to Alistair, arching his brow. "Are you trying to avoid my question, Your Highness? Who do you consider sexy? The witch? Or the lovely ex-sister?"

To his satisfaction, Alistair's face turned a lovely shade of crimson. "That's - I - I think you also have more important thing to do, Zevran," he said haughtily.

"In truth? I do not." Watching Alistair's frustration as he searched for a way to throw him out was too much fun. And there were still three cookies left. All one could wish for a pleasant evening, yes?

oOo

If this were his Antiva… well, if this were Antiva, Loghain would already be assassinated, of course, and there would be no need for a secret meeting. Alistair would be sitting on his real throne and everyone who mattered at all would be present, kneeling in front of him.

If this were Orlais, then - much better comparison, yes - this meeting would be secret. Guests would arrive during the night, in carriages with crests covered, wearing ornamented masks to hide their faces, and the air would be full of mystique. Feathers and jewels on the masks and heavy dresses would increase the tension; everyone would suspect everyone else of being a bard hired by an enemy. The promises would be carefully worded, precise enough to prove their loyalty and participate in sharing the country should Alistair and the Wardens win, but vague enough to deny its importance should the tables turn.

But this was Ferelden. These people couldn't even imagine the intricate Game of Orlais, or the delicate political balance that the Crows ensured in Antiva. Fereldans believed bureaucracy and honesty - which, in their understanding, meant an honest brawl - was enough to run the country. Watching these nobles, nobody would guess that this was a secret meeting that would attempt to overthrow the current leader of the country.

Zevran's lips curled into a small smile. Naive, yes - but also oddly endearing.

The line snaked towards Alistair, seated on a makeshift throne, a pretty but rather uncomfortable looking high chair with the Theirin coat of arms on the top. Head of the family first, then other members. Simple, short and to the point - after all, this was not a coronation ceremony. This was just to assure there would be a coronation ceremony, rather than a scaffold, in their future.

Step forward. Kneel. Look very important and a little humble. Say the oath. By now, Zevran already knew it by heart: "I do swear to be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King Alistair, his heirs and successors, according to the law. So help me Maker and his Bride."

Then it's Alistair's turn. Nod. Look royal. "I, Alistair Theirin, hear and accept this oath."

Next.

For the first three times, it was interesting. After that, one would have to be Dagna not to be bored to death. At least Alistair got to say something and occasionally shift his position on the throne. The rest of them had to stand still and stare forward. Such was the price of having the privileged and honoured place to the right of the king, together with his uncles.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Airam suppressing a yawn and grinned. The king's uncles - namely, the older one - may have thought this was a privilege any elf would kill for, a thing to tell your grandchildren about before you die, but here were two elves who didn't care at all.

Thank the Maker they didn't have to stay for the party. Everyone leaving tomorrow with the Warden Commander was excused. Only nine more nobles to go. Then Alistair would say few warm words to his newly loyal subjects, and they were free to go. He already had an idea for tonight that might cheer up their Commander…

Eight more nobles to go.

Zevran sighed. Eamon cast a sideways glance at him, clearly annoyed by his impertinence. Tch. Old fool should be glad he liked Alistair enough not to ask the nobles to move faster.

oOo

Airam disappeared. In the five minutes it took Zevran to stop in his room, take out one of the amulets from the package Grandpa Rashwash had left him and go to Airam's room, the crazy kid had vanished without a trace. Finally, one of the elf maids remembered that he was talking to the 'scary witch-lady'.

Disappointed, Zevran headed back to his room. But there was nothing to do. All his daggers were shining like a matron's silver, as Farren used to tease him. His stock of poisons was more than complete; if he made any more, he would need Bodahn's wagon to transport them. Things for the mission they would start tomorrow were neatly packed. Anyone remotely fun was still at Alistair's party.

After staring at his ceiling for a few minutes, he got up, changed into his common leathers, and went to take Rask for a walk. It would do the mabari good to have some exercise; the kennel master was spoiling him too much. Tomorrow the mabari wouldn't run after them - they would push him and he would roll down the street, like the barrel he was resembling more and more.

Rask must have been bored as well, because he followed without a single bark of protest. They jogged to the beach behind the castle, just far enough to be deserted. For a few moments, he wished to escape the prying eyes of wannabe spies and plotters. But they weren't there for more than twenty minutes when he saw someone coming from the opposite direction. Annoyed, he called for Rask, hoping to avoid whoever it was, but the mabari ignored him. With a happy bark, he bolted away to greet the man - and there was only one person in the world that could cause this.

"Air? What are you doing here?" he asked breathlessly, when he caught up with them.

"That's my line," the crazy kid replied, with an amused grin. "I'd never guess I'd find you here, playing with Rask."

"We were not playing, we were training. I took mercy on him - just look at him, he looks like an overweight Schmooples! - No use growling, my friend, it is sad but true," he added, as he stepped away from the offended mabari. "But I was told you were with our charming Witch of the Wilds. Is there a new ice statue somewhere near the lake?"

He meant it as a joke, but Airam's face crumpled at the mention of Morrigan. "No, of course not. We had a short talk, right after the ceremony, that's true, but it didn't take more than ten minutes. After that… I wanted to think about it alone, so I went for a walk."

"Ah. Then I shall not bother you, yes? Rask needs more exercise anyway." His mind was racing, trying to figure out what could have happened, but there were other ways to find out - no need to pry, when Airam was clearly upset.

"No, please stay." Airam took his arm. "You're not bothering me. It's just that the castle, it's sometimes… too confining. Makes it difficult to think... I'm probably not making much sense, am I?"

"No, I know what you mean. I feel like that as well, sometimes," Zevran assured him. They walked in silence for a moment, Rask running in wide circles around them - and Airam was still holding his arm. It would be quite a pleasant evening, if Airam wasn't frowning, lost in thought. Whatever Morrigan had told him, it wasn't good news, that much was obvious.

"Zev…" Airam started after a moment. "If someone saved your life, and then someone else asked you to kill that person, what would you do?"

"What?" Zevran stopped. "Why are you asking me that?" Was Airam doubting his loyalty? But why?

"Because I'm not sure who to believe," Airam said. "If someone saved your life - and more than that, gave your life a purpose, a goal, set you on your road - doesn't that mean you're… allies, at least, if not friends? But, what if your friend told you it was a lie? That the person who saved you is not an ally, and only did it to use you? That in fact, this person is a monster, dangerous and evil?"

"Did Morrigan tell you that?" What did the damn witch want to achieve with that? Why wait all this time to try to slander him? And how could Airam believe it so easily, after all they had gone through together? A monster, dangerous and evil. Well, he could not argue with that - but hearing it from Airam was more than he could endure.

"I do not wish to use you for anything, Warden," he said coldly, taking a step back. "But if that is what you believe-"

Airam's eyes widened in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?"

"Flemeth!"

"Flemeth?" What did Morrigan's mother have to do - ah. Andraste's ass, I'm a fool.

"Yes! Morrigan, she - she asked me to kill her mother. How in the Void did you come to the conclusion it was about you?"

"I…"

Airam gave him a knowing look. "Silly assassin. If I meant you and me, that would make me the evil monster and you the innocent victim," he pointed out with a smirk. "Of course, if you're feeling abused-"

"Ah, not nearly as much as I would wish," Zevran cut in with an embarrassed laugh.

"Careful what you wish for," Airam replied with a chuckle, then became serious again. "But really, Zev - do you think so little of me, that I'd change my mind about you, just because someone said something bad? You're the only one I really trust, the only one I-" He broke off and looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Zevran's heart was beating so hard he was sure it would burst. He wanted to ask, he wanted to close the distance between them and kiss him, to end this silly game that had been going on too long - but his body refused to move.

And then the moment was gone.

"We should go. I still need to finish packing," Airam suggested.

He seemed just as disappointed as Zevran was.

oOo

An hour before dawn, the four of them were ready to go. The main goal of their mission was to sneak to Ostagar without being noticed by Loghain's spies - if all of them came, they might as well send Loghain a note announcing their departure, route, and the date of expected arrival. Besides, Airam wanted people he trusted in charge of the army.

And so it was only Zevran, Leliana, Wynne, and their fearless commander with his mabari at his heels that filed out of the castle, quietly and without any fuss, their thick grey coats blending them into the morning mist. It had been some time since Zevran had travelled like this, in a small group and always under cover; he was surprised how much it annoyed him. He had gotten used to his companions more than he had thought. Perhaps it was better that they were travelling in a small group… it would also give him more time to talk with Airam. It was about time they cleared things between them.

But somehow, there was never an opportunity for that talk. Every time he gathered the courage to go to Airam and ask, he suddenly remembered something else that needed to be done. Immediately. By the time he had finished, the chance was gone again. Funny how those things worked, no?

oOo

This area was one of the first the horde had defeated; Zevran expected it would be crawling with them. But so far, they had hardly met any darkspawn. Or any other creatures, except for a few stray cows and sheep. Starved, their bodies half-rotten with the blight, they roamed near the farms, as if they hoped their masters would return. But the villages and farms were abandoned; houses demolished, crop and pastures burned. Southeast of Ferelden was a land of ghosts.

"Do you think the horde moved on?" he asked when they set camp - hopefully the last time before their reached their destination. They could see majestic walls and towers outlined against the dusk sky a mile or so to the south as they ate their cold dinner of dried meat and travel bread. Normally Wynne would make a cauldron-full of hot herbal tea to go with it, but today they decided not to light the fire, just in case.

"Of course not," Airam replied. "When did our mission ever go smoothly? Given our luck, the bastards dug trenches in the snow and are lying in wait there, waiting to pop up like a jack in a box the moment we appear."

"And the alphas will sing pop goes the weasel?"

Airam's lips twitched. "If not, we'll play the tune for them. We do have a bard with us."

"You should take this more seriously, Airam," Wynne interrupted sternly. "We will reach the battle site tomorrow, and we still do not know what we will do."

"We do not? Why, that's easy. We'll go there, observe the situation, sneak into the camp, try to avoid darkspawn, kill any that see us, find the place the spy mentioned, take the documents and head back," Airam snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The old mage frowned, but before she could scold their leader, Leliana cut in. "That is in fact as good a plan as any," she pointed out. "We should not make any decisions until we have some idea what we will find there. I suggest going more to the north tomorrow, to avoid the swamps. Here, let me show you…" She pulled out the map from her backpack and traced the route with her finger. "See? We can skirt it, and come from the forest here-"

"That's where the horde came from," Airam muttered. "Several hours before they were expected… at least that's what Alistair said. I didn't pay much attention to such details back then; I was still hazed from my Joining earlier that evening. Only later did Alistair tell me that the horde was expected to arrive the next morning, and from other direction - more to the south. That's where our defences were strongest. I always wondered how darkspawn could change their plans. Even Sten is a better tactician than them. But, somehow they knew where to strike, how to avoid our defences, and they even broke into the signal tower… Weird, don't you think?"

"I often wondered about that myself," Wynne admitted. "But it must had been a coincidence. Loghain is a traitor, but even he wouldn't go that far."

"No," Airam agreed. "I can't imagine anyone would. And even if there _were _a lunatic who would want to collaborate with darkspawn, I doubt they would listen. They'd kill the man before he had a chance to speak. Still, it makes me uneasy any time I think of it… Never mind that now. Back to the plan."

"Yes. As I said, this route would help us reach the ruins undetected. It would take a few hours more, but I think it is worth the delay."

Zevran nodded. "I suggest you and I go first and scout-"

"No way I'm staying behind!" Airam glared at him in shocked anger.

"And you will not. Let me finish, yes? Leliana and I will go scout, because we can hide in shadows, disarm traps, or set new ones, if necessary; you and Wynne will follow slightly behind us, waiting for our signal to move forward. That way, if something goes wrong, you can cover us, yes? If anyone attacks us, you can freeze them, and if we get injured, you can heal us."

He could see on Airam's face how he stubbornly searched for any argument against, that, but there weren't any. "All right, then," he finally sighed in resignation.

Good, because he was determined not to let the crazy kid anywhere near the fight. The words of Airam's grandpa still haunted him; he wouldn't be at peace until the Archdemon was dead with Airam alive and well. The amulet Shwara left him was now safely around Airam's neck, but Shwara said it was just half of the solution, yes? Full of powerful magic, but still not enough to guarantee Airam would survive.

"Hey, I said I agree. Stop frowning at me like that." Airam nudged him in the ribs with a grin. "Anything else we can plan?"

"No, I think we're done," Leliana said, rolling up the map again.

"Then I will excuse myself." Wynne got up and shook the crumbs from her robe. "If we want to take a longer route, we have to break camp earlier. Goodnight. You shouldn't stay long either, Airam. We will all need our strength tomorrow."

"Of course, Gran. Goodnight," Airam replied seriously; but the moment the old mage was in her tent, he sighed. "I wish I could fall asleep on command like that," he muttered softly.

"Should Leliana sing you a lullaby?" Zevran suggested.

The bard rolled her eyes. "You are horrible, Zevran. How can you-"

"That's actually a good idea," Airam cut in enthusiastically. "Come on, Leli - just a short song… not too loud, so we don't alert the… uh, nearby enemies?"

"Alright," she said with a smug smile that belied the resigned tone of her voice. "But Zevran must sing something as well. I am sure he knows many Antivan songs, right, Zevran?"

"Oh, I do know many songs… what I do not know, is how to sing," he admitted with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Then you can recite them," Airam decided. "Go on," he said, before Zevran could protest.

Leliana got up. The song wasn't one of the Orlesian ballads she usually sung, but a beautiful song in the Elvhen language. The bard's soft voice, little more than a whisper, gave it an air of mystique. The whole world around them seemed to still and listen, and even after it ended, they just sat in silence for a moment, unwilling to break the charm.

Finally, Airam shifted and looked at Leliana. "That was beautiful. Thanks, Leli."

"You are very welcome. It is an old hymn the elves sang when one of their Elders decided to go to sleep. But it is not only about sorrow. It also sings of the joy of living, of being able to love."

"Ah, love," Zevran said with a chuckle. "My poem is about love as well, although from a slightly different point-of-view. I am not sure if it is a traditional song. I heard it from one of my marks. Let me see if I remember it…" He stood up, bowed to Airam and cleared his throat.

"_The symphony I see in Thee,_

_it whispers songs to me._

_Songs of hot breath upon my neck,_

_songs of soft grunts by my head,_

_songs of hands on muscled back,_

_songs of Thee, come to my bed._"

"As I said, you're horrible, Zevran," Leliana said, rolling her eyes.

"What was that?" Airam demanded. "Grunts? Who in the Void makes poems about grunts?!"

"It is sex poetry, of course. Very popular where I come from. I admit that it is not the highest quality, but it serves its purpose, yes?"

"And what purpose would that be? No, wait. I don't want to know." Airam's ears were pink again. "Alright, then. I think we should follow Gran's example, before we ruin the experience of Leli's song even more. Goodnight."

Leliana watched the boy go. "I don't understand you, Zevran. You love him, do you not? Yet sometimes it seems you're doing all you can to chase him away." When he didn't reply, she left as well.

Zevran stared into the darkness, thinking about what she said, trying to figure out if it was true. But the only conclusion he came to was that he didn't understand himself, either.

oOo

The horde had moved on, it seemed, but the Ostagar ruins were far from abandoned. And for the four of them, three hundred or three thousand didn't make much difference - if they were discovered, they would be dead within a few minutes either way.

So far, they had been able to creep between the ruins, hiding in their shadows; but now they had to pass right through the darkspawn camp, with nowhere to hide from the patrolling guards. Zevran frowned. Normally a few genlocks like this wouldn't be a problem, but now they couldn't afford to leave their corpses behind. He sneaked back to discuss it with the mages, but Airam didn't see it as a problem at all.

"I'm an ice mage, Zev," he said haughtily. "You do your job, I'll do mine. If you can put them down without alerting anyone, I'll cover them in snow before you sheathe your daggers again."

Zevran wasn't sure about this at all, but what else could they do? Turning back was not an option. With a silent curse, he melted into the shadows and started sneaking towards the first guard. He turned back once, halfway through - and, surprised, he saw the track he had just made fill in with snow. Maybe they had a chance after all. With that encouraging thought, he moved forward again. The genlock's neck was waiting.

Half an hour later, all the guards were down, and there were no signs of alarm in the camp. Good. Now if they could just find the statue the spy had mentioned… somewhere near the king's tent. Yes, but where? Neither of the mages knew exactly. Wynne had never been in the king's part of the camp, and Airam only once. But it was almost a year ago. He had a general idea but any details-

_Andraste's ass. _

Zevran gaped at the sight that opened in front of him as he rounded the corner of another ruin.

"Zevran? What is wrong?" he heard Leliana's urgent whisper behind him.

"I think we found the king."

oOo

Mauled. Stripped down to his underwear. Propped up on a crude cross, a humiliating symbol of victory over humanity. King of Ferelden.

Despite his many injuries, his face still resembled the face of his younger brother. Wynne said magic had been used on him to prevent rotting. Leliana knelt down, her lips moving in silent prayer. Airam was violently sick. And he, he was just standing there, unable to stop staring at the body. For the first time, he fully realized what the Blight was. They needed to find those documents and get out of here. He opened his mouth to say so, when Airam stood next to him.

"We must get him down."

"We can't," he said. "If we remove him, someone will notice. We will be surrounded in a minute."

"Why would they? It's not so high - can't be more than two meters. We didn't notice it either."

Zevran sighed. Leave it to Airam to come up with the craziest possible demand. "The risk is still too high," he explained patiently. "It would take a lot of time, and we have already pushed our luck too far. Besides, what would you do with the body, hm? We can't take it with us, and there is not enough dry wood to make a pyre."

"But he's Alistair's brother, Zevran! We can't leave him there!"

"He's dead. If we take him down, we will be dead as well."

Wynne put her hand on Airam's shoulder. "I agree with Zevran, child. It isn't-"

"No!" Airam shook her hand off, his face twisted in fury. "My family is dead - dead, and left behind to rot, left for forest animals to feed on!" Wynne's eyes widened in shock, but Airam ignored her. "Zev, I beg you. Help me take him down. Please."

Zevran closed his eyes. _You're the only one I really trust. _It was madness, but how could he refuse? "As you wish. But only after we find the documents, yes? Leliana and I will sneak around and try to find them. You try to think about what we will do with the body."

"We'll bury him in the snow and ice," said Airam and turned to Wynne. "It's possible if you help me. Please, Gran."

"I will," she said after a while. "Let's get ready."

oOo

Leliana found the statue and the buried chest not long after and quickly stuffed everything inside it into her backpack. There was a thick envelope, and some weapons, but they had no time to inspect it. Wynne and Airam started casting, shaping the snow near the cross into big blocks. The air was crackling with magic; it was a miracle they had not been discovered yet.

At first Zevran planned to climb the cross, but the wood was too slippery; even if it hadn't been, he wouldn't be able to cut the ropes around the dead king's body and take him down with just one hand. No. They would have to cut the cross down. And for that, they would need an axe. That wouldn't be difficult to find - there were tons of weapons around, left where they dropped from the hands of fallen soldiers, darkspawn apparently not bothering with the loot. But it meant more delay, more complications.

Leliana sprinted for an axe, while he piled as many stones from the ruins to where he hoped the cross would fall. He didn't want to waste all this effort by letting the cross squish the king's body as it fell down. Of course, there was no guarantee this would work - but at least he couldn't be blamed for not trying, yes? He was an assassin, not an undertaker. In truth, if anyone else but Airam asked him to do this, the fool would join the king in death.

He glanced towards Airam and Wynne and shook his head. If he hadn't see it with his own eyes, he never would have believed it. A proper tomb, shaped like a little dome, with an opening at the bottom. It only needed a few more ice blocks at the top and it would be ready. Maybe they would survive this after all… _Brasca_, where was Leliana with that axe?

She sprinted back a moment later, and pressed the axe into his hands. "Hurry up," she hissed, trying to catch her breath. "There's a big group coming. They have an ogre. They'll be close enough to hear you soon."

Zevran didn't waste his breath on a reply. _Thwack. Thwack_. The blows of the axe against the wood thundered in his ears, increasing panic making him stronger.

_Craaack_! The cross swayed. The wood broke, and the whole cross fell down, shattering the stones they had piled, and stopping inches from crushing the former king into a greasy stain on the snow. Together with Leliana they cut the ropes around the arms and legs of the corpse and dragged him out. Zevran had just pushed him into the tomb, when Leliana cried out.

"They're coming!"

Airam quickly put the last block in place, closing the opening; Wynne was muttering some spell under her breath.

"Didn't you hear? They're coming! We have to run!" Zevran grabbed Airam's arm and dragged him away.

"Then follow me! We'll go to the swamps!" Airam jerked away, and bolted down the path. Wynne and Leliana followed, and he and the mabari were on the rear. But it was too late. They were discovered - and that meant all the darkspawn in the area were after them. More and more were streaming in from all directions. He could see the gate Airam wanted to reach, but they had no chance… unless someone grabbed their attention while the others ran away. He pulled out his daggers and stopped. Rask turned to him and barked, but when he didn't move, came to his side.

The darkspawn caught up with them almost instantly, but they were ready. Zevran danced away from their clumsy blow, and plunged his dagger into the chest of the nearest one. Next to him, Rask jumped at another, tearing its neck with vicious growl. But more were coming now. Did Airam reach the gate already? He didn't dare turn around and check. He needed to stay focused; the longer he lasted, the better chance Airam had.

"_Zevran!_"

A gush of strong cold wind whirled around the darkspawn, as the first snowflakes hit the ground. Airam's Blizzard, he realized in horror. "Airam, run! Now!" he screamed, but his voice was drowned out in the noise of a raging ice storm - and battle cries. Human battle cries. Was he already delusional? He wasn't even injured yet!

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw shapes running towards him, obscured by the snow, and heard the clang of weapons all around him. Then something hit him in the head, and darkness took him.

oOo

When Zevran opened his eyes, he was in an unfamiliar tent, lying on thick, warm furs. If this was the Beyond, it was different than he had imagined it. He tried to sit up, but someone gently pushed him back.

"Don't get up yet, silly assassin. You'll open your wound again."

"Air? You mean I'm not dead yet? How can that be?" He obediently lay back, trying to remember what had happened, but it didn't make any sense.

"It seems you have more lives than a cat." Airam laughed. "Of course, Leliana says it was Andraste who protected us. Personally I think it was more thanks to the Chasind."

"Who?"

"The Chasind. The folk that live in the Wilds. Maker, but they can fight. I _must _convince them to join the army. They had guards near the gate, you see - plus their mages were in the darkspawn camp, so they knew about us. Remember all the crows hopping around? Not all of them were real crows, it seems. They can shapeshift like Morrigan. When they saw us fighting, they joined in, and helped us break through. But that's all I'll say now. You need to rest."

Airam got up to leave, but Zevran grabbed his arm. "Please, stay with me. I am fine. Bit sore, but I've had worse."

"Glad to hear that," Airam said. "That means you can spend some time thinking about that stupid, insane thing you did back there. Staying behind, I mean."

"It was the only chance, and even that was tiny, to give you a chance to survive."

"I don't want to survive at the cost of your life! Why would you do that? How do you think I could live with it?" Airam's voice trembled. He turned away.

"You would live, and that's all that matters," Zevran said. "I am your bodyguard, no? How could I-"

With a curse, Airam stormed out of the tent without even looking at him.

oOo

Four days he lay in that tent, dying of boredom. Airam ignored him. Oh, he would come to help heal him, bring him food and drink, but he stubbornly kept quiet. All his tricks to make the crazy kid smile that had worked before were useless now - he would just press his lips together and glare at Zevran. The only thing he said, on the evening of the first day, was that Zevran was not his bodyguard anymore.

"Well, you can't blame him," Leliana said. She was injured as well, an arrow had hit her shoulder and reached the bone, and the surgery to remove it was quite painful. It would take days before she could even think of using her bow. But at least she was allowed to move around. "You chose the worst possible reply. When he realized you didn't follow… I don't remember ever seeing such despair on someone's face, Zevran. And when you fell… he was almost crazy with worry. He refused to move from your side until he was sure you'd be fine. And you tell him it was your duty as a bodyguard?"

"What else could I say?" he muttered, unwilling to accept she was right.

She gave him a pitying look. "Why not the truth?" she suggested. "You never seemed like a coward, Zevran. So why not the truth?"

oOo

The reason the darkspawn hadn't succeeded in cracking his skull and spilling his brain all over the snow was the superb quality of his helmet, the Chasind blacksmith said. Any other helmet would be ruined by such a blow, but this could be still fixed, although he doubted he could match the skill of whoever had made it. Zevran made a mental note to buy a bottle of the finest Antivan brandy for Wade, when they returned to Denerim. And maybe a bottle of wine for Shwara, for paying the bill.

"I am sure you will do more than fine," he said with a wink. The blacksmith was rather young, and handsome, with strong, muscled arms - and a soft spot for male elves. The Chasind were willing to heal them, but that was where their helped ended. They didn't owe anything to the Warden Commander, and saw no reason to give away their stuff for free. With the limited budget they had with them, it meant they couldn't get much beyond food and a few potions. So if the blacksmith was willing to give him a discount for a smile and a wink, he would smile and wink the whole day. No harm done, no?

At least that's how he saw it.

Airam apparently didn't agree. He walked into the smithery, just as Zevran was whispering another innuendo to the blushing young smith. The smile froze on his face. He muttered an apology, turned on his heel and ran away.

"What was that about?" the young smith laughed, but shut up when he saw looked on Zevran's face. "Oh. So that's how it is," he said, angrier with every word.

Zevran pushed the fool away, barely resisting the urge to wring his neck. He would, but finding Airam was a bigger priority right now. "I'll come for my stuff later," he called out as he bolted out of the smithery.

oOo

Airam was on the shore of a nearby pond, throwing pebbles into it as if his life depended on it. Zevran came closer, standing to the right of him, but Airam didn't acknowledge his presence in any way. For a while he just watched him, unsure what to say or where to begin. _I am a coward_, he thought bitterly. In the end it was Airam who lost his patience first.

"What do you want, Zevran?"

"Me? I am just admiring your technique. You must show me how you do it, that last pebble skipped halfway across the lake."

"Shouldn't you be with your new boyfriend? I'm sure he'll miss you." Airam threw another pebble, still avoiding looking at him.

"He's not my boyfriend, and you know it. I… The only one I care about is _you_, Air. I want to be with you."

"Why?"

Why? What kind of question was that? That wasn't the answer he wanted. He had hoped for one more along the lines of, 'That's what I want too, Zev'. "Because I like you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

Airam turned the pebble over in his hand, as if it needed thorough examination before he threw it. "You're handsome, and strong, and always so calm and witty and so bloody sexy. You can have anyone you want, a handsome guy like that smith. Why would you want someone as ugly and clumsy and immature as me?"

"This again? I like you because you're the most beautiful and adorable person I've ever met."

Airam rolled his eyes. "You don't have to… woo me like that, you know. I can't like you more than I do already, anyway." He blushed and turned away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Grinning, Zevran turned him back and pulled him into tight hug, breathing in the faint scent of his hair and skin and listening to his heart beating wildly. "I'm not trying to woo you. It's true. If we were in Antiva, they would write odes about you."

"Yeah right, I can imagine that," snorted Airam, but he didn't try to pull away. "Something like: His hair is like a sparrow's nest, only it is violet, his skin is white, his ears are small and he is often violent."

"I must say you are quite bad at poetry," Zevran said when he finally stopped laughing.

"Look who's talking. How did it go? The symphony I see in Thee, whispers sweet songs to me…"

"Ah, but that was not really written by me, you realize. Now, if you stay silent for a while, I will make one for you, but not rhymed, all right? Hm…

_If I sailed through a thousand seas_

_I still wouldn't find one_

_Deeper than your eyes._

_If I climbed a thousands mountains_

_I still wouldn't find snow_

_Purer than your heart._"

"I thought you'd say, 'whiter than your skin'. I would have to kill you if you did."

"I told you to stay silent, crazy kid. Now, where was I… ah, yes.

_If I drank a thousand nectars_

_I still wouldn't taste one_

_Sweeter than your smile._

_If I lived a thousand years_

_You would still remain_

_My only desire_."

There was a moment of silence, and when Airam finally spoke, it was barely audible. "Is it true? Zevran. Is it _true_?"

"Yes," he said.

That kiss was the most natural thing in his life, slow and gentle and breathtaking.

"That was different than I thought," said Airam when they broke it. "Much better," he specified. "Can you do it again?"

He obliged, again, and again. And again. Who would be able to resist?


	29. The Precipice of Change

AN: I can't believe it's been almost three months since the last chapter... I want to thank you to all that still follow this story, despite my slow updates. Please know that every fave, follow and especially reviews (even if I don't reply) is a great encouragement and always make my day. I just hope you will all stay Air's fans even after this chapter... ;)

Huge thanks to my dear friend ShebasDawn, not just for doing amazing job as a beta but also for her support and encouragement. 3**  
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**The Precipice of Change**

The long tufts of white hair sprouting from the old man's nose and ears were gently flapping in the breeze. Zevran watched it with disgusted fascination, secretly glad he wasn't a human. He'd bet that if he opened this man's skull, there would be no trace of brain, only more white tufts of hair. And humans dared to look down on elven ears.

Zevran suppressed a sigh, shifting on the low seat made of furs – the only Chasind-made thing that was worth anything, if you asked him. When he first found out they were in the Chasind camp, he expected they would be a sort of human Dalish. Instead, they were like a primitive version of the Crows. They were loyal only to their own tribe; alliances did not mean much and lasted only until the next conflict. Which were numerous, as the whole history of the Chasind was just an endless list of petty fights among different tribes over stolen sheep.

Even Airam had to admit that adding Chasind into their mix of an army would bring more trouble than gain. That didn't stop him from learning all there was to learn about them, which was why they were suffocating in a smelly tent – despite the cool breeze flowing in through the open flaps, it was still reeking of cabbage and onions – listening to the boring blabbering of the old chief. In truth, Zevran didn't have to be there, strictly speaking, but he hoped to find out more about Flemeth, as he explained to a smirking Leliana.

And it seemed his patience was finally rewarded.

"Does your elder know you want to meet the Witch of the Wilds?" the chief asked, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

"I am the Warden Commander," Airam reminded him. "I don't have an elder."

"Warden or whatever, you're from the Surana clan," the chief said with an impatient huff. "I don't want the irritable old fool on my neck for guiding you to the Witch of the Wild behind his back."

Airam didn't bother to hide his amusement. "Irritable old man? I guess you mean my grandpa. But we're hardly a clan. Even if we were, he's not my elder, and he doesn't decide what I do or don't do-"

"If he is your grandfather, he is your elder - doubly so, in fact," the chief cut in. "Why do you need to visit the Witch of the Wilds, anyway? She is a dangerous creature; you'd do better to give her a wide berth. I doubt even that thing-" he waved towards the amulet Airam was wearing, "could protect you against her wrath."

"She saved my life. And her daughter is my good friend," Airam muttered, wisely keeping quiet about how that daughter had asked him to kill Flemeth.

Zevran was more interested in what the chief meant by the "dangerous creature". But, the man refused to tell them anything more than that, stubbornly repeating that he didn't want any trouble with the the Surana clan's crazy elder.

oOo

"Do you still want to fight Flemeth?" Zevran asked. They had decided they needed more fresh air before they return to their tents, and headed to the lake for a short walk.

"I never wanted to fight her. She saved my life. It feels wrong. But, if what Morri said is true, how can I ignore it?" He frowned. "Next time someone gives me a vague, cryptic warning I swear I'll freeze them."

"Including your grandpa?"

"Especially my grandpa!"

They laughed, and Zevran used the chance to wrap his arm around Airam's waist. He still couldn't get used to the fact that they were truly together. "You would risk the wrath of the mighty Surana clan?"

"Very mighty, yes. One elderly couple, me, and three kids… I wonder though, how the chief found out. It's supposed to be a secret, that's why grandpa moved to Rivain."

"Kids?"

"Yes, my grandpa remarried - shortly before my Dad married. With a Rivaini Seer. My Dad wasn't impressed, as you can imagine. He was always careful not to say anything bad in front of me and Mellit, and it was only much later that I understood some of his comments were sarcastic - like, how great it is to have a brother the same age as your son." Airam chuckled. "Actually, he's a year and half younger than me. I met him only once, when he was four or five, Grandpa came to visit us and brought him, too. His wife didn't come, she was pregnant again."

Zevran quickly did some math – grandpa Rashwash had to have been his mid fifties when he fathered those kids. Impressive. "Ah, your grandpa is a truly wise man who knows how to enjoy the beautiful things in life," he said with a smirk.

"Yes…" Airam replied, not really listening. He stopped at the bank, where some kids had built a tiny snowman; there wasn't enough snow yet, and it was dirty and full of blades of grass sticking out. Airam laughed "I… sometimes, I imagine what it would be like, if my Dad had listened to grandpa and moved to Rivain as well… all of them alive… how different everything would be."

Zevran hummed. Of course it would have been best for Airam, and he wished Airam would have had a happy, Templar-free childhood, but…If that happened, what would happened to him? He wrapped his arms around the other elf possessively. "Everything would be different, yes," he said quietly.

"I'm sure we would've met," Airam said, turning his head to give him a little kiss on the cheek. "Grandpa said he often travels to Antiva, and he even had some business with the Crows. Maybe we would've met even sooner, in fact. I'm sure you'd love my family."

Of that, he had no doubts. But what would Airam's family think of _him_? He was no better than that silly thing the kids had thrown together – a pile of dirt under a thin veneer of respectability. Only this crazy kid could believe in someone like him – and it was only because of this crazy kid that he could become more than he was made to be. He hugged Airam tighter, placing a light kiss on his hair.

"And I'm sure they'd love you," Airam continued, as if he could hear Zevran's thoughts. "Mellit would adore you – she'd trail your every step, you wouldn't be able to get rid... of her..." Airam's voice wavered like always when he talked about his sister. "Look at me, getting so sentimental," he muttered with a forced little laugh and pulled away from Zevran. "We should return."

Should he tell Airam he was on the trail of those Templars? Zevran hesitated. He had given the list to Faren, only explaining that the five men the enemies of the Warden Commander, possibly in Redcliffe, and needed to be found and arrested. The devoted dwarf needed no more. If what Greagoir said was true, they would be in the castle dungeons by now. But what if Faren couldn't find them? And would Airam even want it? No, better to wait until they were back, and maybe even until Airam's Grandpa was there. It was his family as well, after all.

"A copper for your thoughts," Airam said, interrupting his reverie. "You look so grim. I'm sorry if my rambling upset you-"

Zevran cupped Airam's face and kissed him. What was, what could have been – none of that mattered. Right here and now, with Airam in his arms, was all he ever dreamed of. It still shocked him every time, that he was allowed to hold his mage and kiss him; he suspected it always would.

oOo

The frozen ground creaked under his boot; Zevran paused warily for a moment before continuing. As much as he hated the cold, he was grateful for it now. Good thing Morrigan hadn't decided to commit matricide during summer. This was unpleasant enough without mud and tainted mosquitoes.

Zevran shot a longing glance at Airam, walking a few steps ahead. This would be so much more bearable if he could talk and joke with his crazy mage. But ever since they had left the Chasind camp, Airam had been oddly quiet and anxious. Whatever it was that was worrying him, however, he obviously didn't want to talk about it. Maybe he was remembering his previous visits to Flemeth, trying to decide what to do.

Wynne brushed away the old chief's warnings as nothing more than folktales, most likely spread and supported by Flemeth herself. What better protection for an apostate than pretending to be a legendary Witch of the Wilds? But Zevran wasn't so certain. Primitive Chasind could be fooled, yes – but Airam's grandpa wouldn't buy it. And there we so many things that didn't fit. For example, how did Flemeth save Airam and Alistair from the Tower?

"Morrigan joked that her mother turned into a giant bird and flew away with us, one in each talon," Air said when he asked, and shrugged. "Apostates often have spells they invented or adjusted, or inherited from their ancestors, and they don't like to share it with others."

Zevran didn't find that a satisfying answer. Morrigan had also claimed, according to Airam, that 'her mother's magic kept the darkspawn away'. What kind of magic could do that? If it was that simple, if such magic existed, wouldn't Wardens have learned it long ago?

Dangerous creature...

_She flew away with us._

He stopped, his legs suddenly too weak to carry him. "Airam," he said weakly. "Air!"

Airam was immediately at his side. "Something wrong? You look as if you saw a ghost."

"I know who betrayed you at Ostagar."

oOo

The sun was already setting, and they were starting to look for a place to camp, when Airam pointed to a greenish dome poking out from the frozen swamp.

"I remember that! That's where I accidentally summoned Gazareth... long story, that," he said, when he saw Wynne's stern glance. "Anyway, Flemeth's hut is not far from here. Those ruins over there, on the other side, are where we met Morrigan the first time, when she took us to her mother. It took about one hour to get there, if I remember correctly."

"I think we should camp outside tonight anyway. It would be impolite to bother the old lady this late, yes?" Zevran ignored Leliana's giggle and Wynne's half-annoyed, half-amused smirk. He had enough of those two for today.

Even if Flemeth was able to shapeshift to a dragon, which was rather unlikely according to Wynne, it wouldn't give her power over darkspawn. She'd have to be an Archdemon for that. And both ladies found the very idea extremely amusing. Airam supported him, though Zevran suspected it was more due to loyalty than because of his arguments.

They camped near the dome. Wynne prepared a quick, cold dinner, which they ate in tense silence; Zevran was relieved when he could retreat to his tent. He had barely had time to remove his armour when the flaps opened and Airam peeked in.

"Zev? May I come in?"

"You don't have to ask that, _bello mio_," he replied, his mood improving immediately. But Airam didn't smile; he entered the tent, looking around sheepishly as if he had never been inside. _Is __he __having __second thoughts about us?_ "Will you tell me now what has been worrying you the whole day?"

"Nothing is worrying me." Airam looked everywhere except at him. "I just – I thought – we could – I mean, if you still want to..."

He blinked in confusion. Then it dawned on him what his crazy mage was talking about. With a chuckle, he pulled Airam into a hug and placed a light kiss on his lips. "Ah, I see. This is where I punch your nose, yes?"

"That was different!" Airam's ears turned pink. "You deserved that. But, we're together now. And – well, I thought you wanted to, but if not, of course I won't-"

Zevran shut him up with another kiss. "I forget sometimes how impossible you are," he said when they broke it. "'_If I want __to__?__'_ That, my dear Air, is one thing you never need to doubt."

"But you've just rejected me," Airam muttered.

"Because I do not want it like this. I am not that _cazzo_ from the Tower – I don't wish you to do it out of obligation, because we're together."

"I never even thought of him," Airam said, surprised. "But I've been listening to your banter and flirting with the others for almost a year… Forgive me if I was wrong, but I thought it was important to you," he teased.

"Of course it is." Zevran purred and leaned to whisper in Airam's ear. "And it will be important for you too, I promise. But, we don't have to rush it, yes? Our first time will not be in a small, uncomfortable tent. It will be in a big, soft bed with silk linens in a castle. We will have a romantic dinner, just the two of us. Then we will take a bath together, with scent oils... and I'll give you a massage. And then I'll show you heaven on earth and make you scream in pleasure." He licked the tip of Airam's ear, which made him squeak in surprise. "What say you, hm?"

Airam's face was the loveliest shade of red, but he looked relieved. "I say it sounds great," he said with an awkward little cough, and pulled away. "Alright, then. I should leave you to rest. Goodnight-"

"Oh, I don't think so. You don't enter a lion's den and then just walk out whenever you please," Zevran said with a feral grin, pulling him right back. "Sleep with me tonight. Just sleep."

"If you promise to give me a goodnight kiss."

"Two," he promised. 'And a goodmorning kiss as well."

oOo

Flemeth didn't seem surprised when she saw them coming. She came forward to greet them, a fragile old lady with a gentle smile playing on her lips. Zevran wasn't fooled by it. Many Crows looked as if they couldn't hurt a fly – and then they could torture you for hours without batting an eye. If Flemeth noticed his scrutiny, she didn't let it show, however.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the two brave Grey Wardens! So nice of you to find time to visit an old friend," she said. "But I know young people rarely visit the elderly and lonely without a reason. Is there something you need from me?"

"I only came to ask you a question," Airam replied, much to the old woman's amusement, as if she knew what he wanted to ask.

"By all means, my dear Warden. What is it you would like to know?"

"Was it you who let the darkspawn into the Tower of Ishal? Was it you, who made it impossible to light the signal in time?"

For a moment, Flemeth's mask slipped; this wasn't the question she expected. Zevran couldn't blame her. He didn't expected it either – though he should have. Why did he say anything to Airam? He should have known his crazy mage wouldn't just let it be.

"Me? I am just a humble old woman. Did you really come all the way here to ask me that?" Flemeth asked with a cackle; Zevran had the impression she was trying to lure Airam into giving her another reason, as if she knew about the mission Morrigan had given them. Was this all agreed upon in advance? But to what point? If this was a trap, he couldn't understand it. And it was too late to warn Airam now, anyway. He could only hope Airam would be careful-

"You're a shapeshifter," Airam said, ruining that hope. "Morrigan told me it was you who taught her. Can you change into a dragon? Is that how you kept the darkspawn away? Answer me! Did you betray Ferelden during the battle at Ostagar?"

"My, my, such strong words." Flemeth tried to look amused, but she tensed; her shoulders stiffened, and her voice had a metallic shrill to it that wasn't there a moment before. "May I remind you it was not I who commanded the army, but the king's general – Loghain, I believe was his name? He pulled out of the battle, leaving your Wardens and everyone to die. Surely you don't think his decision would have been different had you lit the fire five minutes earlier?"

"Enough of this, Airam," Wynne said. "We apologize-"

"I'm not asking about Loghain," Airam said, as if Wynne wasn't there. "He'll get what he deserves. I'm asking about you, the Tower of Ishal, and the darkspawn. And I insist on an answer. Was it you who let darkspawn into the Tower?" There was an icy aura swirling around him, his eyes shining like black opals. There were only two or three other times Zevran saw him like this, and it always sent shivers down his spine.

Unlike him, Flemeth was unimpressed. "You insist?" She threw her head back and laughed. "Such strong spirit! So much fire! Or should I say ice?" She laughed again. "And what would you do if I said I did? I wonder. Would you try to punish me for my sins? Do you feel entitled to carry out justice?"

"This is not a difficult philosophical question," Airam snapped. "And I didn't ask for a moralistic interpretation of it, thank you. It is a simple yes – no question."

"No question is ever simple," Flemeth answered, now clearly annoyed. "But you don't understand. None of you ever do... Always coming to me, demanding justice, but the world is so much more complicated than you know. You mourn a few thousands at Ostagar, but in the grand scheme of things, it's just one grain of sand, a tiny ripple in the fibre of the world... their deaths caused sorrow, but who can say their lives wouldn't have caused even more pain in the future?"

Airam crossed his arms. "Indeed – who can say what would happen if they had lived? Perhaps the Maker could, had he not turned his back to us long ago."

Leliana flinched, but had enough sense not to interrupt Airam.

"We live here and now. All we can do is choose from the options we have. We can only deal with the evil we experience now. And if we make mistakes because we couldn't see forward enough, it's the task of those who come after us to fix them."

The old witch stared at him. "I see not even ten years in the Tower can cure the blind naiveté that's inbred in you," she muttered. "Very well. Show me what you got, little Warden."

She took a step back. The air around her quivered, and there was a brief, blinding flash of white light, followed by a roar. When Zevran opened his eyes again, the old woman was gone.

In her place stood a dragon, opening its mouth to burn them.

oOo

This time, he at least had a clue what to do: get to the dragon's belly, stick the daggers as deep as possible, then finish it off.

Unfortunately, this dragon was far more intelligent than the 'New Andraste', and aware of its weak points. And this time, they had one strong warrior less. Zevran never thought he would miss Alistair so much. He quickly drank a healing potion, and poured more poison on his blades. They had to finish this quickly, before-

The dragon roared, breathing fire again. The barrier Wynne cast around them made a sizzling noise and evaporated. The old mage crumpled to the ground, exhausted. Their time had just run out.

"Gran!" Airam's voice was panicked, but he had no time to check on her, or cast a spell. Ignoring Leliana's arrows and Zevran's flailing, the dragon rose up in the air and landed right in front of the boy. One swipe of the tail, and Airam was flying across the frozen swamp, crying in pain.

The dragon roared in triumph before it rose up again and swooped down on Leliana, its cruel yellow eyes glistening with malicious joy.

Airam was dead. And they would soon follow. Oddly, it made him calm and determined. Of course he would follow. Without Air, there was no reason to live. But he would take this bitch with him. He wrapped himself in shadows. The dragon was toying with the bard, like a cat with a trapped mouse, and didn't see him. This was his chance. If he could sneak close enough, through its rear paws-

A sudden flicker of movement to his right distracted him, and he turned his head. Airam was back on his feet, covered in blood and holding a dagger instead of his staff.

"You will not kill my friends!" The air around Airam almost exploded, the icy aura stronger than ever.

The dragon stopped, forgetting about Leliana and turned to Airam again. But before it could fly up, Airam cast a spell – the likes of which Zevran had never seen before. The very air seemed to freeze; breathing was almost impossible. He tried to run aside, but he couldn't move – his boots, his leathers, his daggers, everything was quickly turning into ice. _So this is how it feels._ It would be almost amusing, if it wasn't so scary. Ah well. There was nothing he could do but hope he would eventually melt, yes?

oOo

Being an ice statue was a much less interesting experience than he imagined– cold, wet, and most of all, excruciatingly boring. He could only watch as Airam lit the fire and moved them all next to it, poured his magic into Wynne, and tried to fix a meal, drinking potions just to keep moving. Finally, long after lunch time, he felt he could move again.

"Zev," Airam greeted him with an exhausted smile. "Sorry for that. The spell was too strong; I couldn't fully control it. Thank the Maker it only froze your clothes and weapons, not your body. I was so worried for a moment... but I'm blabbering. Come, let me help you out of those wet clothes, and then you should eat. The stew is not much, but it's warm at least. Leli should join you in a few minutes, I think."

A few minutes later, he was sitting in dry clothes and wrapped in a blanket near the fire, cramming himself with the stew; Airam was right - it wasn't much, but it was better than the one he had cooked in the Deep Roads, in similar circumstances.

Where his arm was also cut.

But now that Leliana had also melted, and Wynne had begun to wake up, he had to push the question about that aside.

"Is Flemeth dead?" he asked instead.

"I don't know. She was frozen solid, of that I'm sure, but before I could finish her off, she disappeared."

"Disappeared? How? Where?"

Airam shrugged. "How should I know? She was there, then she glittered in a pinkish haze for a moment, and then she was gone. She didn't return, thank the Maker. I wouldn't have been able to cast that spell again."

"We should leave as soon as possible," Leliana said, joining them. "Even if we have to carry Wynne. It is not safe here. Flemeth might return at any moment; even if she doesn't, it was her magic that kept the darkspawn away."

"Gran is not injured, only exhausted. Mana burn. She won't be able to cast any magic for a while, even if she drinks lyrium potions. But she should be back to normal by this time tomorrow."

"And you?"

Airam avoided her eyes. "I... could, perhaps, if really necessary..."

"No," Zevran cut in. "You will not cast any magic until you're fully healed. I'm still amazed you survived that hit. And don't even think about not taking health potions this time."

"I already took a few. My ribs hurt a lot, but it's a bit better now," Airam admitted.

"Show me. Right now – we'll go inside the hut. Leli can stay with Wynne, yes?" Zevran was not a healer, but he could at least dress the wounds until Wynne could have a proper look at them. He went to pick up his backpack from where he had tossed it when the fight start. To his surprise and worry, Airam followed him without a word of protest... that could only mean it hurt too much.

His worries were more than confirmed when he helped Airam out of his robes. Healing potions helped with the abrasions and bruises and small cuts, to an extent, but those ribs were cracked. And there was still a thin, pale red line on his left arm.

"How did you get that cut?" he asked nonchalantly, as he prepared poultices while Airam sat on the bed.

"I know you saw me, Zev."

Their eyes met.

"I saw you with a bleeding arm and a dagger."

"Don't... You know what it means. You know I used blood magic," Airam whispered. "Even if I'd drunk a lyrium potion, I wouldn't have had enough mana for that spell. I had no other chance against Flemeth."

"I know."

"She would've killed you, Zev. She would've killed you, and Leli, too – I couldn't let it happen. It was the only way to save you. But I'm not a maleficar, Zev."

"_I know_."

"Do I disgust you now?"

"Air." He put the poultices aside, and set next to Airam, gently holding his arms. "You saved my life, _again_. I know you're not a maleficar, and even if you were – I'm an assassin, remember? You need to try much harder, if you want to disgust _me_."

Airam looked up at him, finally smiling again. "I'm a lucky guy to have you, Zev... I'd hug you, but my ribs still hurt."

Zevran kissed him on the cheek and picked up the bandages again. "Indeed, you are lucky to have me. An assassin, a bodyguard, a nurse... and I did teach you those card games, too."

"But you never polished my armour," Airam pointed out.

"Oh? Then I shall fix that. Soon, you will be all oiled and polished, yes?"

"Maker's breath. Just bandage those wounds and get out, okay? As you are perfectly fine, judging by your blabbering, I'll take a nap. Don't wake me up unless Flemeth appears. Or the Archdemon. Though they could be the same, after all... I wonder what Grandpa will think of that."

Zevran wondered about that as well – but then imagined the look on Airam's grandpa's face, when he found out his grandson had almost died again, while his bodyguard was merely frozen, and all his curiosity vanished faster than Flemeth's body.

oOo

They returned to Redcliffe after almost a three week's delay, battered, tired, and quite happy with the prospect of calm, uneventful days in the castle being pampered as fearless Wardens, the saviors of Ferelden. When Alistair ran out of the castle to greet them, it seemed their dreams had come true. Until the moment he opened his mouth.

"Air! Where have you been! We almost died of worry – one more day and I would've sent a rescue party! Anyway. You'll tell me your adventures later. But first, please, could you go and pacify your grandpa? Before he kills Morrigan? Not that I'd miss her, but you know, it would be bad for our images as the Warden Commander and the King and all that."

In truth, Zevran wasn't sure they should stop the old man... he was much more inclined to help him.

They found Morrigan in her room – in her bird form and locked in a cage, protected by a glyph that even Wynne couldn't remove.

"This is outrageous!" she burst out after the third failed attempt. "I cannot believe the king allowed this, or that the Templars did not intervene-"

"No Templar in his right mind would try to _intervene_ in my business, my dear Wynne," came a dry reply from the door as the man himself appeared. "The girl is unharmed. I merely kept her as a safety measure. In case her mother hurt my grandson. Then she would die, yes."

He turned to Airam, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Are you trying to kill your poor old grandpa, kid? I almost had a heart attack when I heard you went to kill Flemeth! How in the Void could you think you're in her league? You're two hundred years too young to even dream of that. And you!" - he pointed his finger at Zevran - "Aren't you his bodyguard? How could you let him do something that foolish?"

Airam frowned and pulled away. "Zev is not my bodyguard, he's my boyfriend, and neither you nor anyone else must ask him to risk his life for me ever again!" he declared, much to the amusement of Alistair.

"Oooh, are you two finally together? I mean, _officially_? I must hear all the details. Consider it a royal order," he said to a giggling Leliana.

Airam rolled his eyes. "As your Warden Commander, I forbid any impudent inquiries on your part," he snapped. "And I wouldn't release Morrigan just yet," he told his grandpa, who had opened the cage. "I mean, turn her into a human again, of course... But I want some answers, before she can walk away freely."

Wynne opened her mouth to say something, but Airam was faster. "Gran, Leli, you two go and rest," he said firmly. "But please, don't talk about this to anyone else. Alistair-"

"I'm not going anywhere," he cut in, jutting his chin forward. "You can't send me away as if I were a kid!"

"I was just going to ask you to stay." Airam smiled at his friend. "Don't look so surprised; you _are_ my Warden Second, after all. In addition to being King. And you, Grandpa. You know more about Flemeth than all the rest of us combined. Save for Morrigan, of course. And please, could you make sure nobody can hear what we talk about?"

For a moment it looked like Wynne and Leliana would protest, but they all knew any discussions were useless when Airam was in his Commander mode. With a slight bow, they headed to the door; from their sullen expressions it was clear Airam would hear about this later.

"Oh, wait!" he stopped them when they were almost out. "Before we lock the door – could you please send in some food? I'm _starving_."

Leliana shot him an irritated look, but nodded without a word. Still... Zevran decided to taste the food first. You never knew, with bards...

oOo

Morrigan pretended to know nothing.

Even Alistair could see she was lying; she was clever, but no bard, and she obviously hadn't expected her mother's secret would be found out like this. There were gaps in her story, places where her answer didn't make sense, clear contradictions. Yet she stubbornly denied she knew anything about her mother plans.

"Won't you tell me the truth?" Airam begged her. "You sent me to kill your mother, but you didn't tell me about her ability to turn into a dragon. Unless you wanted me dead – and I _don't_ believe that – why didn't you tell me? The only answer I can think of is that you obviously didn't think the fight would be so serious it would come to that – that you knew I couldn't kill her, and that you believed she wouldn't kill me, either. So why did you send me there?"

"I told you the truth," she insisted. "I wanted my mother's _grimoire_, so I could avoid the fate of being an empty sack, waiting to be filled by her presence. I did not mean any harm to you, Warden."

"Yes, the grimoire." Airam sighed. "I do have it. We found it in the hut, after the fight. But tell me at least one thing: you said the book from the Tower wasn't a real grimoire, that she put that up for Irving and the Templars. Yet you claim that the part about Flemeth killing her daughters is true? Why do you believe that part of a fake journal?"

She didn't reply, staring at the wall behind him.

"Morri, please. Aren't we friends? If you don't answer me, how can I trust you?"

"You can't," she said bitterly, and stood up. "But know this at least – all that time, everything I did, was to make sure you survived the Blight. Now, unless you wish to imprison me or to kill me, I think it is time our ways parted."

Naturally, Alistair and Airam's grandpa wanted to have her locked up, but Airam disagreed. "You're free to go, if you wish," he said and hugged her. "Despite everything, I hope we will meet again. As friends."

"You are still naive, Warden," she replied with a sigh, but returned the hug. "Have you learned nothing from your assassin boyfriend? There is no such thing as friendship. People can be allies, or enemies. I was your ally – still am, even though you are blind to see it. But it is nothing to do with foolishness like friendship."

"If you say so." Airam pulled out a package, carefully wrapped in cloth, from his backpack and handed it to her. "Here. The grimoire. Though I'd guess it's another fake, am I right?" He smiled a bit at her expression. "Thought so."

"I admit, I will miss your foolishness," she muttered as she took the book and packed it, together with few other things. "Stay safe, Warden. And Alistair, try not to ruin Ferelden too fast, if you can."

She shouldered her backpack and staff and walked out, proud and calm, without turning back.

"Huh. That was disappointing. I thought she'd open the window and fly out on her staff with a mad cackling," Alistair muttered, earning a disgusted look from Airam. "What? Don't tell me you didn't expect a more dramatic ending to this scene," he argued.

Airam silently picked his things and followed Morrigan's example.


End file.
